


Stepping Into A Hurricane

by umbrellaofshame



Series: Our complications make us who we are [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - College/University, Blindfolds, Dirty Talk, Dom Ross, Explicit Consent, Fighting Kink, Held Down, Light Bondage, M/M, Safewords, Sub Smith, University AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5586313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrellaofshame/pseuds/umbrellaofshame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Sleeping with the Enemy", BDSM University AU. Smith can't quite believe his luck with Ross. Doms aren't like Ross, they're not quiet and kind and still able to be scarily good in bed. And though Smith's still afraid that things are going to go tits-up, in the meantime there's no harm having some fun, right?</p>
<p>Starring Alex "Likes Rough Sex and Cuddles" Smith, Chris "Tired Mother-Hen" Trott, and Ross "Aftercare Should Always Involve Chocolate" Hornby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The next morning, Smith’s still buzzing. He wakes up early, which is some kind of miracle (particularly since it’s a Saturday, like what the fuck?), makes some breakfast and then _tidies his room_ , and by 10am is sitting at his clean desk wondering what the hell has happened to him.

 

            Jesus, maybe Ross is some kind of neat-freak, and it’s somehow rubbed off on him. Or maybe what everyone says about subbing releasing a shitload of endorphins is really true, but holy crap, Smith has never noticed it be this good before. The whole thing makes him feel… weird. Not that he’s getting cold feet or anything, but it’s strange to think that he might have to _depend_ on Ross to get this feeling again. Smith values his independence, always has done, has always enjoyed the fact that technically he doesn’t _need_ anyone else, fuck to the stupid Sub stereotypes. Does this whole thing mean that he does need Ross after all? But no, he doesn’t _need_ him. This feeling is good, but he’s obviously lived without it before, and been fine. He just _wants_ it again, the same way he _wants_ Ross, but it’s something he can live without, right?

 

            Smith freaks out about that for a bit longer, then gets his shit together long enough to go out shopping for actual food, rather than the pizza and crap he’s been living off while stuck in essay hell. Then he eats lunch and puts a load of washing on, and then plays video games for the rest of the afternoon to shut up the niggling doubts in his brain telling him that he’s suddenly becoming some sort of Sub housewife because some guy he barely knows put him under.

 

            It’s just after five when Trott texts him.

 

fancy coming round mine later? thinking takeaway, get pissed, play games, celebrate that we never have to have a lecture with fucking Brindley again?

Trott’s a fucking genius, Smith’s always known it.

 

_sounds great mate, what time?_

7 maybe? we could get Chinese? Indian? whatever really

            Smith is just texting back when another message comes through.

 

saw you talking to Ross the other day, do you reckon he’d fancy coming over? it’s ok if you don’t want

            Smith bites his lip. Well, obviously he wants to see Ross again. But preferably in a less… platonic context. Is it sensible to let the guy infiltrate any more areas of his life? Still, they have promised to piss Trott off together. And if it turns out to be a disaster then it’s no big deal, they just won’t invite him next time. Maybe it’ll even be nice to chat to the guy without the pressure of… well… the potential for shagging hanging over them.

 

_yeah sure. I’ll ask him if you want?_

ok

            Right. Here goes, Smith thinks. God, it’s only been twenty-four hours since he’s last seen Ross, what if the guy thinks he’s being really clingy? Still, he supposes he could blame Trott. And it wasn’t as if he seemed opposed to ‘clingy’ – there’d certainly been some… well, some almost-cuddling, yesterday, until Smith had made his excuses and forced himself to leave.

 

            Fuck it, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

 

_hey, Trott and I are having a chill out evening at his, takeaway and games, bring your controller if you have one, 7ish, you fancy coming?_

Luckily he doesn’t have time to think too hard about what he wants the response to be, because apparently Ross is permanently glued to his phone.

 

**yeah if you’re ok with that? have you said anything to Trott about us yet?**

The word “us” makes Smith’s throat close up for a second. “Us.” Fuck, it sounds so innocuous in a way, and Ross obviously means it casually, but… it makes him feel peculiar. Like he’s fallen into an alternate dimension where he and Ross have been dating or friends for ages, and suddenly started having hot sex into the bargain… which is not how it is at all.

 

            … Would he want that? Jesus, he’s totally skipping ahead of himself.

 

_not yet no_

**how about you go at 7 and talk to him for a bit if you want and then I come round a bit later? count me in for takeaway tho I’m craving Indian**

            Smith lets out a long breath of relief. Yes, that’ll work. He can explain to Trott, establish what’s going on without the awkwardness of _Ross being there while he tries to explain_ , and then Ross can come over and they can take the piss out of Trott together.

 

_ok mate good idea, I’ll see you later_

**looking forward to kicking your arse at Trials ;)**

Smith grins.

 

_yeah you do know Trott practises that shit 24/7? you haven’t got a chance mate_

            

            They text back and forth for the next hour or so, until Smith realises suddenly that he should actually be setting off for Trott’s. He grabs his booze and his ID just in case he needs more later, and practically runs out of the door.

 

***

            “You all right?” Trott asks when he opens the door. “You look… out of breath. Maybe you need to start exercising, sunshine.”

 

            “Oh, fuck off,” Smith says light-heartedly, though he is more winded that he cares to admit. “Let me in then.”

 

            Trott rolls his eyes and does so. His room is on the ground floor and a fair size for uni accommodation, which is the main reason they normally hang out at his instead of at Smith’s. Plus, as Trott says, “there’s slightly less chance of finding something fucking disgusting under the bed.”

 

            “So,” Smith says lightly, throwing his jacket towards the desk, dumping his whisky on the chair and immediately launching himself into a sprawling position on Trott’s bed, making sure he takes up the entire thing. “Erm, Ross says he’s coming a bit later.”

 

            Trott is far too sharp for him. “Oh yeah? So, you two been getting on OK?”

 

            Smith squirms. Fuck, is Trott expecting him to bare his soul immediately? “Erm, yes, we… we have.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

 

            Trott stares at him for a long second. He hasn’t even sat down yet. “You’ve had sex, haven’t you?”

 

            “No!” Smith says immediately, because apparently denial is, and always will be, his first instinct. “Well, no, I mean… Yeah. Yeah, we have.”

 

            Trott raises his eyebrows expectantly. “Right.”

 

            “Only once!” Smith says defensively.

 

            “If you tell me this is why you fell out with him in the first place, because you had one bad shag!”

 

            “No, no, it was… yesterday.”

 

            “Yesterday?” Trott fairly shrieks. “You had sex with the guy _yesterday_ and now he’s coming over here? Great, I’m going to be a third wheel at my own fucking house! Next thing you’re going to be saying you fucking subbed for him!”

 

            The silence is deafening.

 

            Smith rubs his face. Trott sits down heavily on his chair, shifting the whisky irritably out of the way. “You subbed for him?”

 

            “Yeah,” Smith says, and his voice sounds exhausted. He glances at Trott sheepishly. He looks like his eyes are about to fall out of his head.

 

            “Well? Was it… OK?” His expression is an incredible mixture of curiosity and repulsion, and Smith manages to chuckle at him.

 

            “It was… it was fucking amazing actually.”

 

            Trott looks incredulous. “You serious?”

 

            Smith nods and smoothes his hand over his mouth. He can’t help but laugh again at Trott’s expression.

 

            “So, you had some kind of meltdown about it yet?” Trott asks, recovering quickly. The laughter dies on Smith’s lips. “Yeah, I take that as a yes? I know you too well, mate.”

 

            There’s a short silence. Smith rubs his face self-consciously again.

 

            “Fuck, Trott, you know how I feel about being a Sub, and… well shit, I don’t know, it just… It just… Well, it’s thrown me a bit, I guess. I thought I didn’t really want this kind of thing, but now I feel like maybe I… maybe I do after all? And… I mean, I barely know the guy!” He flings his hands up dramatically. “Fuck, mate, I don’t know. You can stop with the fucking… glaring, I’m not a fucking murder suspect or something.”

 

            Trott holds his hands up defensively. “You’re the one who started confessing everything! I’m just… worried about you. Well, not worried – you do enough of that yourself. But I’m surprised, that’s all. I mean, you were the one who, well…”

 

            “Hated the guy. Yeah, I fucking know,” Smith says despondently.

 

            “Look, I don’t really get what your problem is,” Trott says sincerely. “You enjoyed being with the guy. He presumably enjoyed being with you, yeah?” (Smith nods). “OK, both of you are single, you’re the same age, you have similar kind of interests, because you’re on the same course… What’s not good?”

 

            Smith sighs. “Because, I mean, now we’re kind of acting like we’re friends, but I barely know him… I don’t know if he just wants sex, or whether he’s going to want to start… fucking… dating me or some shit…”

 

            “Do you wanna date him?”

 

            Smith splutters. “What kind of question is that?! I don’t know!”

 

            “OK, so you might want to date him. No big deal.” Trott shrugs. “And the sex was good? Wait…” Trott freezes again; his mouth falls open. “ _Did he put you under?_ ”

 

            Smith nods weakly. “Erm. Three times.”

 

            “ _Three times?_ ” Trott has returned to the eyes-falling-out-of-his-head look. “Well, that explains why you’re so hung up about it.”

 

            Smith covers his eyes in mortification.

 

            “Right,” Trott says firmly. “Before he gets here, you are going to tell me everything, and not miss out any _tiny little details_ like that, OK? The whole thing.”

 

            Smith lowers his hand to check Trott is serious (he is), takes a deep breath, and then starts talking. Because, fuck, being all macho and repressed and opposed to talking things through is such a Dom thing that he refuses to let himself do it, even if he doesn’t consider himself much of a touchy-feely kind of guy. He tells Trott about his and Ross’s hostility (which Trott had mainly known about, to be fair), the night outside the library, the morning after, the chat outside the lecture theatre, the whole discussion about limits and safewords, and then… well. He spares Trott most of the graphic detail though.

 

            “And then?” Trott asks, sounding half-hopeful that the story might be over, and half-fearful that it’s not.

 

            Smith shrugs. “We just… I dunno, lay there? He erm…” He coughs in embarrassment. “Touched my hair?” Why the hell saying _that_ is more cringe-worthy than strongly implied handjobs, he doesn’t know, but whatever. “We didn’t really talk much, I guess. He got out one of those fucking Kinder bar things, and we shared it… Ugh, I don’t know. At first I was going to get straight up and leave, but then he gave this little speech about aftercare and how I could go if I wanted but he’d prefer I’d stay… and then I stayed a bit longer… And then I left, end of.”

 

            “Right,” Trott says, his voice slightly strangled. “Right.”

 

            Smith gives an agonised sigh. “What _now_? Do I have to go over my entire fucking life story?”

 

            “No,” Trott says quietly. “Well. I mean, good on you, Smith. You had a mature discussion with the guy, you had sex with him… and then he actually took care of you, and you let him.”

 

            “So? What’s the problem?”

 

            “Jesus, Smith! There is no problem! You’re just… somehow, making one where there isn’t one! He’s a nice guy, as far as either of us can tell. I mean, as far as I can see, you’ve got a pretty good deal!”

 

            Smith is about to answer, when his phone buzzes.

 

**I’m here. can you or trott come let me in?**

“He’s here,” Smith says nonchalantly, trying to disguise the slight panic rising in his throat.

 

            “All right, I’ll go get him.”

 

            It takes a little while for Trott to come back. Smith wonders whether he’s giving Ross some kind of “if you hurt him, etc” speech, but when the two of them come in Ross looks as happy as ever.

 

            “Hey Smith, you doing OK?”

 

            “Yeah, erm, good thanks,” Smith says quickly, scrambling clumsily up out of his supine position and grabbing at Ross’s hand in an awkward semi-handshake. He’s pretty sure he can see Trott face-palming behind Ross, but tries to ignore him.

 

            They order Indian pretty much straightaway once Trott finds the menus. Smith takes great pleasure in good-naturedly taking the piss out of Trott at every opportunity, and it turns out Ross is an excellent enabler and ally. What he isn’t, however, is good at Trials.

 

            “FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Ross yells, slamming down his controller for the fourth time, after yet another DNF. The poor thing already looks pretty battered. “Jesus titty-fucking Christ, Trott, how often do you play this shit?”

 

            “I told you, he plays it every fucking hour of the day, mate,” Smith assures him. “He barely even stops to take a shit. Fucking dedicated, is Chris Trott.”

 

            “The two of you are just jealous,” Trott insists, selecting the next track. “Because you don’t understand _skill_.”

 

            “He’s got a point, mate,” Smith suggests, elbowing Ross. “I mean, I distinctly remember _someone_ saying that they were going to kick my arse in Trials, and let’s be honest, you are absolute shite.”

 

            “Oh GFY,” Ross says, lunging back for his controller.

 

            They’re lucky the Indian arrives when there’s a gap in the general screaming, because the knock at the door isn’t particularly loud. Trott bolts up to get it, and instructs the others to get themselves a drink from the kitchen “because Smith there’s no fucking way I’m letting you drink whisky from the bottle again.”

 

            There’s a quick fight over the naan breads (which Trott, surprisingly, wins), and Smith spends most of the meal half-crying with laughter, partly because his curry is so hot that it’s making his eyes water, and partly because Ross’s only medium-strength curry is so clearly too spicy for him that he spends the whole meal sweating profusely and drowning himself in his can of Coke. And of course, once that’s gone, they really may as well start on the alcohol, because alcohol soothes a burning mouth, right? Who the fuck knows.

 

            Somehow when Smith next checks his watch, it’s nearly half past three in the morning. Christ! Have they really been playing Trials half the night?

 

            “Trott,” Smith whines. “Tro-ott?”

 

            Trott seems to have been nodding off into his mostly-empty carton of rice. Smith pokes him in the back. “Wha?”

 

            “We need to get going, mate, it’s half three. Unless we can kip on your floor?”

 

            Trott jolts awake. “What?! No you’re not! I’ll only have to scrape you off the floor in the morning, and then you’ll steal the fucking shower, and my food! Piss off back to your own room!”  
  
            Smith gives an exaggerated sigh. “Fiiiiiine. Ross, you coming?”

           

            Ross glances up at him, cheeks pink and glowing with alcohol and laughter, and Smith feels his stomach flip. “Yeah, sure.”

 

            Smith stumbles to his feet, tries fruitlessly to look around for his jacket for a few seconds before giving it up as a bad job, and reaching out a hand to help Ross up. “Well, I’ll probably see you on Monday, Trotty.”

 

            “Ugh, fuck,” Trott replies, and slumps over to lie on the floor.

 

            “Bye mate!” Ross chips in, and then he and Smith bundle out of Trott’s room and burst out of his accommodation block. The night isn’t particularly warm for the time of year, but Smith’s beer jacket is definitely protection enough against the cold.

 

            Swaying for a moment and trying to get his bearings, Smith ponders that he might be drunker than he thought. Thinks? Wait, how drunk does he think he is?

           

            Ross prods him in the back. “Hey. Smith. I’ll walk you back to yours, yeah? We’re in the… the same, erm, way? Just mine is further… further on?”

 

            Smith snorts with laughter. “You’re pissed, mate.”

 

            Ross raises his eyebrows very high. Smith mimics him almost unconsciously. “Actually… you are pissed as well. More pissed. I am… no, you are more pissed than me. Than I.”

 

            “Yeah, whatever you say.” Smith picks a direction and wanders in it. Hopefully his brain is leading him to his flat, but at least it’s had practice of the late-night journey from Trott’s.

 

            He’s very conscious of Ross’s presence beside him as they walk. They don’t really talk, just stumbling along in clumsy synchronicity, occasionally muttering a ‘sorry’ as they bump into one another. Ross is warm though, and he smells nice. Well, partly he smells of curry, which is not so nice, but also of Ross, which is nice. Good. Smith suddenly starts wondering what he would say if they _were_ on a date. Would he invite Ross in when they got back to his? Wait, shit, he could do that now! He could invite him in! Then they could have some awesome sex again.

 

            Before he’s properly formulated this plan, he realises that they’ve stopped outside his flat, and fumbles in his pocket for his keys. Once he finds them, he glances up to find Ross’s face much closer than he’d expected.

 

            “Shit mate, you, er…” His thoughts trail off as his eyes meet Ross’s, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to lean forward and kiss him.

 

            The kiss is nice, very nice, but it’s over far too quickly. Ross is smiling, and his eyes are very blue. Smith wants to lean into him and get started on his whole “invite in for sex” plan, but Ross forestalls him.

 

            “We shouldn’t… do anything tonight,” Ross says, and he sounds almost apologetic. “Sex. Aspect stuff, we shouldn’t.”

 

            “Wha?” Smith says indignantly, because he was so sure that Ross would accept, that really the only technicality he’d foreseen had been getting the words out. “But… yesterday… wait… whenever it was, it was good, really good, can’t we…?”

 

            He leans forward for a kiss again, and Ross obliges him, but he’s shaking his head when they break apart.

 

            “Nah, you’re drunk. I’m drunk. S’not a good idea.”

 

            “You’re too fucking sensible, you twat,” Smith gripes, without heat. Ross smiles dopily at him.

 

            “Yes I am. But I wanna see you again, y’know? Text me? Or, phone me, or whatever.”

 

            “All right,” Smith says sulkily, pretty disappointed that his sex plans for the evening are off the table, but perking up at the thought of them being re-scheduled. “You all right to get back to… where you live? I don’t even know where you live.”

 

            “I’ll be OK,” Ross says. “Reckon the walk sobered me up a bit.”

 

            Smith snorts with laughter. “Yeah right.”

 

            Ross rolls his eyes. “Go to bed, Smith. But, yeah, call me.”

 

            “Okaaay,” Smith drawls like a petulant child, and then ruins it by leaning in for one more kiss.

 

            And then all too soon, Ross is gone, and Smith is just about managing to unlock the door of the flat while swearing good-naturedly at his keys. He makes it into the house, staggers to his room, gladly flops on to the bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's good to be back guys! Though editing is pretty darn time-consuming, so apologies in advance for long breaks between chapters. This is for everyone who left comments on Sleeping With The Enemy and on my tumblr, you incentivise me to keep on writing so much, it's unreal.


	2. Chapter 2

Smith doesn’t call Ross on Sunday. To be fair, he wakes up with a fucking horrible hangover, and spends most of the day as a recluse, shunning sunlight and cursing whisky. After all, it isn’t as though Ross is going to want to see him when he feels like he’s going to throw up, and to be entirely honest, Smith’s not sure he wants to see _him_ when he feels this crap. Besides, he barely has the motivation to sulk up and down the stairs for food, let alone anything else.

 

            On Monday he makes the excuse that he does have a busy day of lectures (which he’s secretly disappointed not to see Ross in, but he least he catches Trott and reclaims his jacket), and a meeting with his Airsoft mates in one of the campus bars in the evening.

 

            Tuesday he really thinks about it, but bottles it at the last minute. He’s beginning to wonder if he imagined Ross’s enthusiasm in his drunken state. After all, Ross hasn’t texted _him_ , so maybe he’s considering calling the whole thing off and is just too embarrassed to let Smith know. What even is ‘the whole thing’, anyway? It’s not as though they’re dating, Smith tells himself for what feels like the fortieth time.

 

            On Wednesday, however, Smith’s day is one massive pile of shit after another.

 

            To start it off, he oversleeps and is late for his lecture, _and_ forgets his laptop, so he has to scribble all his notes down on paper instead, which he fucking hates doing because he never gets all the detail he wants and can barely read his rushed handwriting afterwards anyway.

 

            Then he gets a text from the bar he works in over the holidays, saying they’re really sorry but they’re going to have to let him go. It’s not entirely unexpected, and it’s not as though he loved it there, but it’s still a pain in the arse. He really appreciated the little bit of extra cash it brought in (he’s going to have to tighten his belt quite significantly now – the student loan only goes so far), and gave him a decent excuse for avoiding his family when he needed some space.

 

            Then that afternoon he’s scrolling through Facebook and sees that one of his housemates has posted a status ranting about how Sub guys are a joke and not real men, and jokingly suggests that anyone who thinks Subs belong anywhere except on their knees is an idiot. Smith feels so fucking angry that it’s all he can do not to go and smash the cunt’s door in, beat the shit out of him and then ask him who he thinks the ‘man’ is, but _no, he can’t_ , so he’s just going to get away with being a twat, because that’s the way that life works. Smith has just got to swallow it and fucking live with him, because it’s acceptable to take the piss out of Subs and he’d only confirm the stereotype of them being over-sensitive if he retaliated, let alone the fact that he’d out himself.

 

            Finally, that evening the wi-fi in his block stops working, and isn’t that the final fucking straw. He’s picked up his phone and typed in Ross’s number before he even really realises what he’s doing, and the irritation coursing through him is enough to force him to push “call” before he can fucking overthink it _yet again_.

 

            Ross doesn’t pick up. Fuck. Smith forces himself not to throw the phone to the floor, and kicks his bedpost instead. Which isn’t a great idea, because Jesus fuck that hurts. He’s furiously massaging his foot and calling the bedpost the worst things he can describe when the phone rings. Shit, Ross.

 

            “Hey,” he says awkwardly, trying to sound casual and not as if he’s just been explicitly telling the bedpost what he’d like to shove deep up its arse.

 

            “Hi Smith, sorry I missed you just then, didn’t get to my phone in time,” Ross says warmly. “What’s up?”

 

            “Erm.” Smith’s mouth goes dry, but no, fuck if he’s going to bail now. “I was… erm… wondering if you’d like to come over. The wi-fi’s gone down over here, it’s like the fucking end of days.”

 

            Ross laughs, and the sound twitches a smile out of Smith despite himself. “Fuck, it must be bad. I couldn’t leave you alone in such terrible circumstances.”

           

            “No,” Smith agrees. “I, erm… Have you eaten? I was going to make spag bol, do you want some?”

 

            “Yeah, sounds great, are you sure?”

 

            “Yeah yeah, it’s no trouble. When are you free to come over?”

 

            Ross puffs air down the receiver thoughtfully. “Give me half an hour, tops?”

 

            “OK, no problem, I’ll get cooking. See you then.”

 

            “See you soon, Smith.”

 

            The use of his name sends a flutter through Smith’s stomach, and it takes him a moment to realise that Ross has hung up and to put his phone down. How does the guy do this to him?

 

 

***

 

            Smith is just clumsily draining the pasta and worrying that Ross is going to be late and the dinner is going to be cold when there’s a knock at the door. He flies out of the kitchen to get it (mercifully none of his housemates are in to see him flinging open the door to a Dom – it’s sports social night and a lot of them are out pre-drinking elsewhere).

 

            “Hey!” Ross says, stepping in. He’s wearing Superdry again, of course, and brandishing a couple of cans. “I brought beer. Wow, dinner smells good.”

 

            Smith can’t help but smile. “Er, well, thanks. It’s just ready, I was just about to um, dish up.”

 

            “OK, great. Do you want any help with anything?”

 

            “Nah, you’re good, just gimme a sec and we can go up to my room. Kitchen’s a tip. D’you want cheese on your pasta?”

 

            Ross lets out a little moan that is probably supposed to be comical but makes Smith freeze in his tracks. “Oooh, fuck yes. Sounds awesome.”

 

            Smith recovers himself quickly, and barges back into the kitchen to dish up. A few minutes later and they’re negotiating the stairs to Smith’s room, Ross offering to take the plates and Smith insisting that it’s fine if he just brings the beer and the cutlery. Smith nudges open the door with his shoulder and they shuffle in. Smith offers Ross the desk chair while he perches on the bed.

 

            For a few minutes they just dig in. Smith is starving, and pretty nervous, which he combats by shovelling food into his mouth as fast as possible. He’s grateful for the beer Ross brought as well – it’s not what he’d normally drink, but it’s actually pretty good, and it's not like there's enough of it for him to get shit-faced.

 

            “So,” Ross says, once they’ve got over the silent eating stage and are picking more slowly at their food. “Good day? Apart from the wi-fi disaster, of course.”

 

            Smith pauses, and swallows his mouthful of pasta too quickly. “Er. Not too bad. Why? You?”

 

            Ross’s pale eyes meet his seriously. “Sure? Come on, you can tell me. If you want to, that is.”

           

            Smith hesitates. Fuck, he does want to rant about it, especially his dick of a housemate, but he’s not sure it’s a good idea to have Ross involved in his life like this. He doesn’t want to do something really fucking stupid, like develop feelings for the guy. Apart from the current, dick-related feelings he has for him. Ahem.

 

            “Well, it’s been pretty shit, actually,” he mumbles, and then tells Ross about it. Ross is a good listener, and reacts with appropriate outrage when Smith describes the offending Facebook post, even though Smith can’t find the fucking thing with no internet. They’ve finished eating by the time Ross finishes talking about his day, and they sit chatting for a bit longer, sipping at their beers. It’s… nice. Oddly domestic, somehow. Like Ross is a mate he’s had for a long time, and, obviously more than that, because Smith is starting to wonder when they’ll get down to… other activities.

 

            Eventually Ross sets down his beer and fixes him with that slightly-serious stare again. “So, what do you fancy doing tonight?”

 

            Smith can feel his face flare red immediately.

 

            “Seriously, though. It’s your choice. If you just wanna sit and watch a film or something, like, as mates, I’m good with that. If you want to do some aspect stuff without sex, fine. If you want to do sex without the aspect stuff, fine too. And if you want both, great. Just let me know.”

 

            Smith drains the last of his beer, both in a vague hope that it will supplement his courage, and also to stall for time. All of those things sound pretty good, to be honest. He’s never actually done aspect stuff without the sex; he doubts any of his previous partners would have seen the point in that kind of thing. To be honest, it’s not like he would have wanted them to do it – a couple of them he resented being around for the amount of time that it took to get off with them, let alone anything else. But now, there’s something about that that seems pretty appealing, and really damn intimate. Does that make him fucked up, to consider it more intimate than sex? There’s something somehow forbidden about it. Maybe it’s because with sex, two people can look stupid, can make stupid noises – sex is messy for the both of you. But as for subbing in a non-sexual way, it would make him feel really vulnerable. He’s not sure he knows Ross well enough yet to feel safe with that, but fuck if it isn’t tempting. Maybe another time. And the thought that there will probably be another time makes him feel more relaxed and secure. They don’t need to rush, and fuck if that isn’t a new and unusual feeling.

 

            Anyway, the aspect stuff was really addictively good last time, so he’s not going to pass that up. He lets out a long breath. “I don’t mind, really. Maybe… maybe the last one, if you’re good with that? But…” He pauses. “If you’d prefer one of the others, like the film, or just eh, sex, then those sound good to me too?”

 

            Ross grins. Smith can’t help staring stupidly at that sharp smile. “Glad to hear it. But I’m definitely up for a repeat performance of last time, if that’s OK with you?”

 

            Smith nods and swallows. “Yeah, good,” he says, trying to sound casual and failing.

 

            “Good. Anything you want to do differently this time? I don’t want us to push too many boundaries at this stage, y’know, but we could branch out a little bit if you want?”

 

            Smith lets out a confused and aroused “uhhh” before he can’t stop himself. “Uh, yeah. I dunno really. Wait a moment.”

 

            He gets up quickly and locks his bedroom door. He does _not_ want an overexcited housemate bursting in at this moment, or, even worse, at a slightly later moment. Ross is still waiting patiently for his answer when he turns around again, and something about being next to the door makes him remember _last time_ with a sudden blinding vividness, and he remembers how strong Ross’s arms felt, pinning him to the door. He hopes what he’s thinking isn’t too obvious when he suggests, in a slightly strangled voice, “I’d quite like if we… er… that is… you… we could take off some more clothes…?”

 

            It sounds fucking ridiculous somehow, but fuck if the idea of Ross’s hot skin on his isn’t a massive turn-on. He can see Ross’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, so maybe he’s not the only one more than interested in the prospect.

 

            “I’d be very happy with that,” Ross says quietly. “Are you all right with me putting you under again?”

           

            Smith swallows and nods. The familiar rhythm of the questions is soothing and satisfying somehow, like checking items off a to-do list.

 

            “Good. Your safeword is?”

 

            “Magic,” Smith says, a little hoarse. He’s still standing over by the door; he feels pinioned by Ross’s stare.

 

            “Good. Remember, mine is marble. Understood?”

 

            “Yes.”

 

            “How do you feel about taking orders?”

 

            Smith pauses. “I’m OK with it. As long as you don’t mind me getting a bit sarky every once in a while. And nothing humiliating.”

 

            “That’s fine. Let me know if you feel uncomfortable.”

 

            Ross still looks cool as a cucumber, sitting in the desk chair, but Smith can feel the tension in the room rising.

 

            “Are you good to go?”

 

            “Yes.” Smith’s mouth is definitely dry now, fuck.

 

            “Good. Now, for a start, I want you to draw the curtains.”

 

            Smith can’t help but roll his eyes a little, and Ross lets a flicker of a smile pass across his face, but it doesn’t stop a little wave of satisfaction and pleasure rising up in him as he moves to obey. He’s glad Ross remembered the window – in the summer people can hang around in the courtyard outside for hours, and he wouldn’t want anyone to see them. He draws the curtains neatly, and then turns back to Ross. Smith finds himself grinning a little, half-mocking, and half-eager for more.

 

            “Good,” Ross says again. It’s so simple, but so pleasing to hear. “Come over here.”

 

            Smith moves a little closer, still smirking slightly, but his heartbeat speeds up despite himself. Ross stands as he does so, so in a few seconds they’re suddenly much closer. Smith’s eyes dart over Ross’s face fleetingly, before diverting to stare fixedly at the desk chair instead.

 

            “Look at me,” Ross says pleasantly, and Smith meets his eyes, a little unwillingly. It’s embarrassing how hot he finds just looking at the guy, and knowing he’s being scrutinised and assessed.

 

            “That’s good. Now, you stay right where you are. I’m going to come a little closer.”

 

            Smith nods shortly, and then Ross takes another step forward, now properly in his personal space. He can smell Ross’s aftershave, and it just reminds him again of last time, _fuck_. And how is it that Ross seems so much bigger, so much more confident, even though he’s shorter than Smith? That’s both a mystery and a source of arousal in and of itself. They’re still maintaining eye contact, and Smith still kind of wants to look away, kind of wants to stay here forever.

 

            “And a little closer,” Ross continues. Now his body is brushing Smith’s, warm and firm. Their faces are very close. Smith feels like he’s struggling to breathe evenly. He wants to hold it in suspense or pant like he’s just run a mile.

 

            “And… one more…” Ross says, very quietly. He brings their faces closer now. Their lips are nudging each other as they breathe, but not quite for long enough to be a kiss. Smith can feel the faint stubble on Ross’s cheek. They’re breathing each other’s air, warm and shockingly intimate. Smith desperately wants to close his eyes and lean into a kiss, but he’s not going to give Ross the satisfaction. He feels like he's nudging his face up towards Ross unconsciously anyway though, his lips fluttering apart in anticipation. They’re so close that their eyelashes are brushing, so it’s hard to focus.

 

            “You can close your eyes,” Ross says, as if reading his mind, and Smith does so, gladly. The sudden darkness puts him off-balance, and he sways a little. Ross’s hands are firm on his upper arms. “I’ve got you.”

 

            It’s so frustrating, to be _so fucking close_ and yet still Ross is not giving him what he wants. Smith quickly runs through his available options. He can be stoic, snarky, or obedient, but there’s no telling which will get him the best results. Well, he guesses he can ask.

 

            “What,” he murmurs, feeling a little punch-drunk. “Would be the fastest way to get you to just snog me already?”

 

            He can feel Ross’s smile, after all, their mouths are nearly touching. And there’s a soft puff of amusement on his face. “You want that, do you?”

 

            OK, well, Ross wants him to talk: that eliminates the stoic route, and naturally Smith will always opt for snarky given the option.

 

            “I mean I wouldn’t _mind_ ,” he says carelessly. “I was just wondering when we were going to get the fucking show on the road, mate. Before I, y’know, fall asleep or something.”

 

            “Hmmmm,” Ross says quietly, and Smith gets the horrible feeling his bluff is about to be called. “Well, I’m feeling pretty patient. Are you?”

 

            “I… can be,” Smith tries, hoping Ross doesn’t see through his lie immediately. But another huff of laughter proves that to be a vain hope.

 

            “Really? I didn’t see you as the patient sort. I thought that within a few minutes you’d be _begging_ me to have you. You’re very tense, because you’re waiting for me to _get on with it_ , but I wonder how you’d cope if I didn’t? If I made you _wait_.”

 

            “Don’t be a prick,” Smith says, opening his eyes again, and he’s trying to sound irritated but it comes out more like pleading.

 

            “Patience running out already?” Ross says teasingly.

 

            “Fuck you, yes it is,” Smith confesses, squirming. “Just get started before I try to Dom you instead out of sheer frustration.”

 

            Ross laughs yet again, and then he moves forward to breathe in Smith’s ear. “ _I’d like to see you try._ ”

 

            Fuck, he’s played that trick before, but it makes Smith go as boneless as it did the first time, and while he’s frozen by his powerful wave of arousal, Ross puts a gentle hand on either side of his face and begins kissing him in earnest. It’s so fundamentally _good_ and satisfying that Smith feels like he could happily do it for hours. Ross’s lips and tongue are agile and unpredictable, keeping him on edge, and even as Ross leans away Smith groans and shuffles forwards so they can keep going. He can feel Ross’s smirk at that, but can’t be bothered to feel like he lost the competition of playing it cool, because fuck if this isn’t worth losing for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight cliffhanger folks, but my chapter lengths were getting out of control. More sexy goodness next time (which I'm so nervous about writing, but hopefully it's OK). Thank you so much for all your comments, I'm only sorry that I haven't replied to more of them, but to be honest I haven't much to say other than a grateful and excited yelp. I'm frankly blown away by how many people seem to like and support this fic. Thank you <3 Having said that there might be a big gap between chapters and then publishing this one early because I'm greedy for those sweet, sweet reviews, there will DEFINITELY be a gap before the next one, because I need to write a draft of my dissertation next week. Oops. Please keep up the comments though, they absolutely make my day xx


	3. Chapter 3

            Ross’s hands migrate from his face to his waist, and this time Ross does really pull away, so he can ask (slightly breathlessly, Smith is pleased to note), “Can I? This OK?”

 

            Smith nods impatiently and helps Ross pull his t-shirt off as quickly as possible, because he _needs_ to go on with the making out, already. But once it’s off, Ross doesn’t immediately lean in again – he spends a moment paused, assessing Smith’s naked chest, tongue flickering out to lick his lips thoughtfully.

 

            Smith struggles not to feel embarrassed under that stare. He’s not like he’s self-conscious about his body, per se – he knows he’s in pretty good shape, and he’s got decently broad shoulders, but he can feel a bit awkward about the few extra pounds that sometimes cling to his build. He’s pretty pale too, where he’s not pink with arousal or embarrassment, but he has a decent covering of gingery hair and a few freckles to cover that up.

 

            Ross suddenly seems to catch himself staring, and flicks his eyes back up to Smith’s face instead. If anything, he seems embarrassed himself. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t mean to leave you hanging. You’re just… you’re hot as fuck, you know?”

 

            Smith snorts in a mixture of pleased surprise and incredulity, and makes a beeline for Ross’s t-shirt. But Ross holds him back. “Not yet. I’d rather keep it… like this, for a bit.”

 

            Smith raises his eyebrows. “What, me half-naked and helpless, you all… fully dressed and powerful?”

 

            “Yeah, that’s about the shape of it,” Ross agrees, backing him towards a wall again, and Smith is _very_ happy with that idea.

 

            “Gets you off, does it?” Smith snipes breathlessly.

 

            “Yeah, nearly as much as it does you, dirty bastard,” Ross murmurs over his bare skin.

 

            “Ah fuck off,” Smith says mildly, closing his eyes momentarily with the pleasurable onslaught that is Ross’s lips and teeth. Then he forces them open again, because really the sight of Ross fixed on him with so much lust in his face is too good to miss.

 

            “Can I take you under?”

 

            “Please.” Smith doesn’t have time to analyse whether that sounded cocky or demanding or desperate, because the next moment Ross is taking him down, and his vision blurs with the power of it. Jesus that’s good, fuck yes.

 

            “Good?” Ross asks, and he manages to nod slowly. It’s as if his head is having to move through treacle. He feels warm and…

 

            “How do you feel?” Ross presses, and Smith groans at the thought of both the effort involved to formulate words, and the knowledge that saying it out loud will make it that much more real, that much more intense.

 

            “’S good, r’ly good, oh…” Smith’s head slumps back against the wall as Ross noses into his neck again.

 

            “More,” Ross says quietly, nipping at him, and it feels like half the muscles in Smith’s body suddenly jerk with arousal.

 

            “’S’warm, an’ safe an’…” Smith pauses a moment. The shaky sound of his own voice – the fact that he sounds, and feels, so out of it, should be frightening, but it’s not somehow. “I… I wanna kneel.”

 

            “Yeah? Good. Down you go, then.”

 

            Smith gratefully drops to his knees, and to his surprise, Ross follows him down, crouching in front of him so that he’s taller than Smith is, but still close enough to bend in and kiss him again.

 

            “You OK to put your hands behind your back? You don’t have to if you don’t want.”

 

            Smith hesitates. His mind isn’t so foggy as to know that that’s something he’s not entirely sure about, but he can process the idea and decide that yes, that is something he wants. He nods vaguely, and shifts his shoulders back and his arms behind him. He loosely knots his fingers together and waits, his eyes heavy-lidded, for more instructions.

 

            Ross is admiring him again, face open in an easy smile. “I meant what I said, you know, about you being hot. Have you seen yourself? Your eyes, your smile? Thought so first time I saw you, even if you were being a tosser.”

 

            Ross goes down on his knees himself, pushing Smith gently so he’s sitting on his heels, so they can still have the height difference. His hands are warm and gentle on Smith’s face again as they kiss, and Smith feels like he’s floating away. But gradually, gradually he comes back to earth again, as Ross strokes the hair back from his face and touches his shoulder softly.

 

            “You all right?” Ross asks quietly. “Sorry, that was a little deeper than last time, I should have asked. You still good?”

 

            Smith nods a little groggily, and waits a few seconds before trying to speak again. “No, it was awesome. Just… yeah. You’re a bloody expert, mate.”

 

            He meets Ross’s eyes firmly, to let him know he’s really serious. He wants to communicate that it’s never been like this before, that it’s never been so good, so effortless, so enjoyable, but all he can manage is, “So, first time you saw me? Got to say, I thought you were a bit of an ugly prick, but each to their own.”

 

            Ross laughs. “What, d'you still think that now?”

 

            Smith huffs impatiently. “Well, I’d form an opinion quicker if you took some bloody clothes off, mate.”

 

            “Well, look who’s bossy. Fine. Keep your hands to yourself, though.”

 

            As it says it, Smith realises that his hands are still behind his back, and now he’s itching to move them, but tries his best not to. He really wants to take off Ross’s t-shirt though, but apparently Ross is doing that himself… oh yes.

 

            Ross is pale too, like him (right couple of stereotypical British pricks they turned out to be), but his hair is darker and denser, with a distinctive trail leading downwards that Smith really wants to get his fucking hands (or mouth) on. His stomach, chest and arms are definitely toned, fuck, does he spend time in the gym or something? He doesn’t seem the type. Then again, Smith doesn’t really know him well enough to know.

 

            A moment later Smith realises that he’s _definitely_ been staring, and Ross is watching him with clear amusement in his eyes.

 

            “Still an ugly prick?” Ross queries.

 

            Smith considers that an opportune cue to close his gaping mouth. “Ermmm… I… well… maybe not as hideous as I first thought, no.”

 

            Ross draws a little closer, the fucking tease, and leans in slowly so their bodies are nearly touching, but not quite. He tugs at Smith’s hair carelessly with one hand, the other lazily tracing Smith’s collarbones. His hands are so warm, and Smith is desperate to touch the rest of him.

 

            “Can I…?” he asks roughly, nodding awkwardly behind him at his arms.

 

            Ross pauses in his ministrations, as though he’s only just remembered, but Smith can tell from the glint in his eyes that that’s not quite accurate. “Depends, mate. You feel like saying ‘please’?”

 

            Smith glares up at Ross, who smiles sweetly back. There’s another shiver of tension between them.

 

            “Please?” Smith snaps experimentally, and Ross pulls an amused pout.

 

            “Come on now, like you mean it. I’m sure you can beg very nicely when you want to.”

 

            Smith grunts in irritation and tries not to think about begging. Teeth gritted, he tries, “Please Ross, may I move my fucking arms now?”

 

            Ross considers for a moment, rubbing at his lip thoughtfully. The way the muscles move in his arm as he does so is captivating. “Well, it definitely sounded like you meant it… But I think you can be more polite if you try a little harder.”

 

            Smith rolls his eyes and then gives it his best shot. He stares upwards at Ross’s face, exaggerating the pleading eyes for all he’s worth. “Please, Ross, please,” he whines breathily. “Let me touch you, please…”

           

            Ross looks torn between amusement and lust. “Good enough,” he said curtly, and Smith instantly lunges for him, wanting to feel every inch of his skin under his hands. Yes, this is what he wanted, Ross laughing into his mouth as he kisses back, the freedom to grope at his bare back and arms, enjoying the feel of his smooth skin. Ross is giving him quite the same treatment, and ghosts a finger over one of Smith’s peaked nipples, probably to see how he reacts.

 

            “Oh!” Smith says, almost in surprise, and Ross smirks at him. “Shit, that’s… good.”

 

            “I’ll do it again then,” Ross says, and follows through.

 

            On the one hand, Smith feels like he could do this for hours, but on the other hand, almost immediately he wants more. “Can you put me under again?” he blurts into Ross’s mouth, in between kisses. It sounds shockingly sincere and needy, but Ross likes that, if the way he freezes, locks his eyes with Smith’s, then bites deliberately on his lip is any indication.

 

            “Yeah? Come on then, up on to the bed.”

 

            Smith finds his muscles have become a bit stiff from the awkward position he’s been kneeling in, but he manages to stumble to the bed without mishap. He perches on the edge for a moment, and is saved the trouble of wondering where to position himself by Ross leaning into him with a smirk, pushing him effortlessly down on to his back with one hand and crowding to lean over him again. Smith shuffles himself around so he can rest his head on the pillow and pulls his legs up on to the bed, slotting them easily between Ross’s.

 

            “You good?” Ross asks quietly, leaning to kiss him again. “How do you want it?”

 

            Smith is not sure whether to be turned on, or to want to take the piss out of a question like that. “Erm, how do you mean?”

 

            “Do you want me to take you down fast or slow? As deep as last time, or not so much? What are you OK with me doing while you’re under?”

 

            Smith swallows at all those questions and tries to construct answers while also feeling _really fucking aroused_. “Ehh, I…”

 

            Suddenly, the fantasy idea he had last time (and, if he’s honest with himself, a few times since then), of Ross forcing him under, of him struggling against it, springs to mind. Jesus, that thought is still as hot as fuck. But he doesn’t think Ross is ready for that yet, and nor is he, for that matter. But Ross must notice his change in expression, because he leans forward a little more, pressing their bodies together.

 

            “What is it?”

 

            “Nothing,” Smith says hastily, trying to brush the thought away, but Ross raises his eyebrows and he feels the need to elaborate. “I… I had an idea, but it’s not right, for now. I’ll tell you later.”

 

            Ross seems satisfied. “OK,” he says, laying a kiss on Smith’s collarbone. The gesture is surprisingly tender, and Smith’s stomach gives a painful pang. “Come on then, what do you want?”

 

            “Slow would be good,” Smith manages. “Just bit by bit, just, uhh… don’t stop, yeah? And deep is OK too, maybe a bit deeper than earlier, that would be fine. But not much more than that.”

 

            Ross rocks into him again, and Smith attempts a glare. It’s not fair to put him off, he’s trying to be good. “And I’m OK with you doing… well, most things I guess. I’ll be able to tell you ‘no’ if I’m not too deep. You can, er, touch me. Get me to touch you. Take my… stuff off.” He waves vaguely at his trousers. “But I’d prefer to be, erm, ‘up’ again when I come.”

 

            He half-thinks Ross is going to criticise him for the “when” – make him say “ _if_ I come” to keep him humble, but Ross seems to have no intention of doing so. He just murmurs, “Good, seems fine to me,” and gets back to the kissing.

 

            Which is fine, and all, but Smith is feeling a bit frustrated now, eager to be put under, and now Ross just seems to be deflecting and not following through. Is it because he thinks Smith isn’t ready? Smith _is_ ready, dammit, he’s been ready for ages. He _wants_ so hard, it’s like a burning itch that needs to be satisfied. He opens his mouth between kisses to tell Ross to _get the fuck on with it_ , when he realises that the words seem slow and sluggish to form.

 

            He’s looking at Ross’s face, stunned, and Ross clearly knows the moment he realises, _holy fuck Ross took him mostly under already without him even noticing_ , and the pulse of arousal is so intense that he feels like all his hairs stand on end.

 

            “OK?” Ross says gently, smirking again and leaning in to kiss Smith’s stunned and half-open mouth. “Sorry, bit cheeky of me, but you said ‘slow’, I thought I’d see how well I could do it. And besides, you look as though you like it.”

 

            Smith just about manages to articulate a groan. Now of course the heated pressure-pleasure of being under is clear and identifiable, and growing stronger by the minute as Ross takes him down kiss by kiss. He feels so utterly, deliciously helpless, watching Ross take control, with barely anything he can do to resist, fuck, that shouldn’t be as amazingly hot as it is.

 

            “Still good?” Ross asks a few minutes later, once Smith is happily floating, eyes half-lidded and probably with a dopey smile fixed on his face. “Let me know if you want to come up at any point, OK? You should be fine managing your safeword, but if you don’t want to go for that straightaway, just shake your head and I’ll check in with you, OK?”

 

            “’Kaaaaay,” Smith murmurs, tongue heavy in his mouth. This is blissful; he feels weightless and warm and vulnerable.

 

            Ross pauses. “You look beautiful, you know,” he says, and his voice is suddenly full of determined sincerity. “Fucking amazing. I wish you could see yourself. I should take a picture.”

 

            Deep in Smith’s gut, something clenches. He’s feeling too good to identify it properly, but something about that _wasn’t right_. Picture? He doesn’t want a picture. No. Something’s wrong. No.

           

            He must freeze up, because Ross turns back to him in concern. “Hey, you all right? Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want. You don’t have to look at yourself, I won’t take a picture, I was just letting you know how good you looked. Sorry, you good? You OK to carry on?”

           

            Smith relaxes again and manages a clumsy nod. Whatever the half-realised panic was, he feels reassured now, happy to slip under again into the deep dark quiet. Ross kisses him again, gentle and considering.

 

            “Sure you’re OK?” he murmurs, and Smith nods again, needily craning his head up for more contact.

 

            “OK, take off your trousers for me?” Ross asks quietly, and it is a request, not an order, but Smith is only too keen to comply. His hands are slow and fumbling, but he undoes his fly without too much trouble and shimmies his jeans off. Ross moves back slightly to give him room.

 

            “Well done,” Ross says warmly. “Now, how about you touch yourself?”

 

            Smith doesn’t need to think, he just _obeys_ , reaching down to feel himself hot and hard through the cotton of his pants. Yes, that’s good. His movements are unhurried and lazy. His attention is caught between the delicious indulgence of stroking himself, and Ross’s hungry presence to his side, watching him. He revels in the sheer luxury of it, the quiet calm in his mind, the way everything seems so simple.

 

            “You can take your pants off too,” Ross says, and his voice sounds a little hoarse now. Even through the warm muffled blur that subbing gives everything, Smith can tell he’s affected. He does as Ross says, slides his pants off his legs and then rests his hands on his thighs quietly, waiting for the command to return to his very eager cock.

 

            Ross gives a strangled noise and then he’s leaning over Smith again, kissing him, reaching out a hand to stroke between Smith’s legs so Smith arches up gratefully into the touch. “Fucking hell,” Ross breathes into his mouth. “You are something else, you know that?”

 

            He pulls Smith up again, slowly but surely. The sensations intensify as he does so, and Smith finds that he’s almost unconsciously rolling his hips by the time he’s up again. “You… you enjoy the show, did you?” he pants into Ross’s cheek.

 

            “Definitely,” Ross says, his voice low, nuzzling beneath Smith’s ear, making him shiver a little.

 

            “What about you then?” Smith asks, trying to sound off-hand as he glances lustfully at Ross’s bottom half. “Going to take that shit off?”

 

            “If you’re that keen, mate,” Ross says casually, as if he’s not jerking Smith off with such precision that Smith feels like he’s being slowly set on fire. “I will have to let go of your dick though.”

 

            “Just, just get it off,” Smith groans, pushing Ross’s hand away with an effort. “Fuck.”

 

            “Your wish is my command,” Ross says teasingly, pulling his jeans and boxers down in one movement and then sweeping them off the side of the bed. Smith greedily drinks in the sight of him. God, that was worth waiting for. Ross’s cock is thick and straining upwards from its nest of dark hair.

 

            “Want you,” Smith blurts stupidly before can stop himself, and then buries his face in Ross’s shoulder as he leans in again. “Please.”

 

            “Hold on,” Ross says breathlessly. “You got any lube? Not for… Not yet... I just want to…”

 

            Smith leans over, fumbles the drawer of his bedside table open, and passes Ross the bottle of slippery-lotion-stuff he sometimes uses. Ross slicks his hand without preamble, and then takes both their cocks in his large hand, which… oh God.

 

            The heat and pressure is incredible. Smith doesn’t know which is better: the hot rigid line of Ross’s cock beside his or the smooth, more giving glide of his hand. He flops his head back on to the pillow, as the will required to keep it upright seems suddenly to have abandoned him. Ross huffs out a laugh, but he too looks like he’s struggling not to be overcome.

 

            “You… you all right to finish like this?” Ross manages.

 

            Smith nods fervently. “Please, Ross… fuck… Can you…?” Smith gropes upwards again to pull Ross back down to him so they can kiss again. Ross’s eyes are bright and blue and beautiful, darting around Smith’s own face, his lips are full and parted in a moan, with a slight sheen of sweat above them, his stubble actually feels really fucking good on Smith’s skin, grounding him in the moment. The fact that Ross is having to use one hand to jerk both of them off means he only has one to hold himself up with, so Smith takes the opportunity to brush against Ross’s chest and nipples to watch the muscles in his torso and arms twitch and hear Ross groan his name thickly.

 

            “Uhh, Smith, fuck, you close?”

 

            “Yeah, come on, I’m nearly there,” Smith chokes back, rolling his hips again in encouragement.

 

            Ross’s eyes suddenly sharpen, though he still looks ruffled and aroused as hell, sweat gleaming on his chest. His face is rosy. “You are good, Smith. So fucking good. You gonna come for me?”

           

            Smith groans. Fuck, not the dirty talk again. It nearly did him in last time, he can’t take it.

 

            “ _Smith_ ,” Ross growls, and there’s a note of command there.

           

            Smith manages a whimper in the affirmative and a bit of nodding, though it’s pretty hard to concentrate when Ross’s hand is… uhh fuck, how can he be so fucking precise with it when he’s got two cocks in one hand? That’s got to be some kind of special talent.

 

            “Please,” Smith manages to whimper. “Ross, I want…”

 

            “ _What do you want_?”

 

            “Want you… want you to _make_ me, fuck…”

 

            “ _Make you_?”

 

            “Fuck, please, hold… hold me down, uhhh God…”

           

            Ross abruptly releases his cock, making Smith give a choked moan of frustration, but a second later he’s pinned Smith firmly to the bed, their bodies pressed tight together, as if Ross is a predator about to tear his throat out. God, Smith still feels so close to coming, even though Ross has stopped touching him. His cock throbs, trapped between them.

 

            “Look at me,” Ross growls, and Smith has no choice but to meet his eyes, swallowing convulsively at the fire in them.

 

            “When I say, you’re going to come, yeah?”

 

            “Yes,” Smith breathes. “Yes, please, make me…” His hips jerk upwards again, and the friction makes him gasp.

 

            Ross pushes his head in close to Smith’s, so their foreheads press tight together and Smith’s head is forced still further back into the pillows. His eyes seem to bore right through Smith’s.

 

            “ _Now_.”

 

            Smith’s body manages one more panicked thrust and then, incredibly, he feels orgasm begin to rush over him like a switch has just been flipped. He’s losing control even as Ross stares into his eyes, body twitching and flexing beneath Ross’s sturdy weight. “F-fuck, Ross…”

 

            “Well done, that’s it, good boy, come on…”

 

            The words are all it takes: Smith’s back arches and his hands fist into the sheets as he comes, his eyes clenched shut against the force of it. Fuck. The relief and the pleasure is overwhelming. Oh fuck.

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draft of first dissertation section is DONE! And with that comes the reward for your patience, hoorah! Hope you enjoyed. Please keep the comments/feedback coming, they and you are all absolutely fab and I couldn't hope for better readers. Just another warning (sorry, I'm always apologising ahead of time) that I haven't pre-written as many chapters as normal, so the story may have to come to a temporary halt in a few chapters time if uni work has meant I haven't been able to write any more. I'll make sure it doesn't pause on a cliffhanger though! Thank you all again for reading and reviewing, this fandom is awesome xx


	4. Chapter 4

He can hear Ross’s voice at the edge of his awareness, slightly breathless (though still calm and soothing nonetheless), but he feels so blissed out that he can’t really recognise the words. He feels almost like he’s going under again, he feels so relaxed. An indeterminate amount of time later, he hears Ross’s voice again, but this time it’s accompanied by a touch on his arm. He makes the effort to squint his eyes open.

 

            “You all right, mate?” Ross asks quietly. “Did I break you? Is it OK if I clean you up?”

 

            Smith nods vaguely, and watches as Ross wipes his stomach with a tissue, before throwing it in the direction of Smith’s overflowing bin. “Mind budging up again, so I can fit in?”

 

            Smith rouses himself a little and shuffles over, so Ross can get on the bed beside him. There’s not much room, but that means he can snuggle into Ross’s chest without it being too obvious. OK, it’s very obvious, but at least he has an excuse. But Ross shifts to accommodate him, and, after a moment, begins stroking his hair which is… nice actually.

 

            “It’s all right,” Ross says quietly. Smith can feel his voice vibrating his chest. “It got a bit intense there.”

 

            Something about the hair-stroking, or maybe it’s the physical proximity, grants Smith his voice back. “Yeah,” he mumbles, a little hoarse. “It was fucking brilliant though.”

 

            Ross gives an amused hum. “Too right it was, mate.”

 

            They lie in companionable silence for a little while, until Smith suddenly realises his glaring oversight. He twists over to meet Ross’s fond eyes. “Wait, shit, did you even get off?”

 

            Ross gives a proper snort of laughter at that. “Yeah, I did, don’t worry about that. Just after you did, actually.”

 

            “Wanked over my half-conscious body, did you?”

 

            “Fucking shamelessly,” Ross says sincerely, and Smith grins.

           

            “Glad to hear it.” He pauses a moment. “Do you reckon we could get under the duvet? I’m getting chilly.”

 

            “Good idea,” Ross says, sitting up with a groan and then going for his bag. “Here, I brought snacks.”

 

            “You what?” Smith says bemusedly, wriggling off the duvet so he can pull it over him. Ah, that’s better. Being enveloped by a soft duvet (even his slightly shitty uni one) is pretty damn enjoyable on any day, but post-fantastic-orgasm it’s downright luxurious.

 

            “Snacks,” Ross repeats, sitting heavily back on the bed, bag in tow. Smith is pleased when he gets straight back in beside him, their naked bodies brushing unselfconsciously. He’s so warm, and when he throws an arm playfully around Smith’s shoulder again, Smith takes it as an excuse to burrow in a little closer. “You like Oreos?”

 

            “Fuck yes, you’re the best,” Smith says, sticking his hand out for one, which Ross hands over with a smirk. Ross watches him eat it too, with a warm, satisfied expression on his face.

 

            Smith swallows, slightly embarrassed. “You all right? Like watching me eat, do you?”

 

            Ross seems to remember himself. “Sorry. It’s just… nice. It’s a Dom thing. S’good to see you happy, you know?”

 

            “Whatever floats your boat, I guess,” Smith says, stuffing another Oreo in his mouth in what he’s sure is a pretty unattractive way, and watching Ross cautiously out of the corner of his eye. Normally, he’d be uncomfortable with people talking about “Dom things” like that in front of him, but with Ross it’s different. It’s nice he’s being honest about it. Maybe the whole aftercare thing isn’t so bad after all. In the past Smith had always felt it was a chore for the Dom, felt like it was taking up their time, felt pressured to hurry up and tell them they were free to go. But with Ross, it feels like he’s getting as much out of it as Smith is, like he really wants to do it.

 

            “Can I ask you something?” Ross asks, after Smith has finished his fifth Oreo and gratefully had a swig of water from the bottle Ross offered him. “Well, two things.”

 

            “Shoot,” Smith says, relaxing back into the pillows, content to give the Oreo binge a short hiatus. He takes the opportunity to admire Ross’s face from a new angle. Fuck, he’s pretty.

 

            “Earlier… you reacted badly to something I said, when you were under. Can we talk about it? So I don’t make the same mistake again? If you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to. S'no rush.”

           

            “Oh,” Smith says self-consciously, shifting a little, as if he’s trying to get comfortable.. “Yeah. Wait, when was that? What did I not like?”

 

            “I said you were beautiful,” Ross says cautiously. His hand is absent-mindedly stroking at Smith’s hair again. Smith lets his eyes flutter closed so he can concentrate on the sensation. “That I wanted you to see yourself looking like that, that I should take a picture for you.”

 

            “Oh,” Smith says again, screwing up his face a little. He remembers now: the clench in his stomach. And now he’s fully lucid, he can join the dots for himself. “Erm, yeah. I had a… bad experience, I guess.”

 

            “Do you want to talk about it? Or just tell me what I shouldn’t do again. No pressure,” Ross murmurs.

 

            “I… uhh…” Smith hesitates, open his eyes, rubs at his face in frustration. He’s unsure whether to meet Ross’s eyes, or look away. He settles for addressing Ross’s hairline as a compromise. “Well, basically this guy in secondary school… I was desperate, y’know, first realising I was a Sub. Didn’t want my parents to know.”

 

            He still remembers it vividly now, the aching _need_ in his gut, wanting to be put under so bad he felt almost sick with it. Thank God those urges faded with age. But not before Smith had let them rule his brain enough to fuck things up, of course. He remembers the way Kieran’s hands had felt on him, grasping, greedy, possessive, the way he’d spiralled Smith down too fast and too deep with his inexperience, but it had been such a relief, Smith hadn’t cared. Until later, of course.

 

            Smith huffs out his anxiety with what he hopes sounds like a bored sigh. “I let him put me under. He… He took some photos. On his phone. Put them online. Half the school saw them. I guess my brain just… linked it to that. S’not your fault.”

 

            God, the humiliation of it, of people _knowing_ , let alone seeing him like that, that… vulnerable, it still stings. Just the thought of it makes his pulse quicken with fury and distress.

 

            “Shit, Smith,” Ross says quietly, breaking into his thoughts. His voice sounds hushed and appalled. “That’s… that’s awful.”

 

            “I don’t need pity,” Smith says defiantly, letting their eyes meet. “I made a mistake, trusted the wrong guy. I’m over it.”

 

            “Yeah, but it wasn’t your mistake,” Ross, after a pause. “It was him, being a disgusting piece of piss.”

 

            “I know,” Smith says tiredly, because he’s been through it all before, with Trott. Not that he doesn’t appreciate the thought. “I know. Look, I don’t want to talk about it, OK? He was… yeah, well. A piece of shit.”

 

            “Well you don’t have to say that twice,” Ross says fervently. “What a cunt.”

 

            Smith musters a half-laugh at that. “Yeah, I reckon that’s a fair description.”

 

            There’s a moment of silence, but Smith can tell Ross is working up to say something, so he lets it hang in the air. Ross strokes through his hair again, apparently absent-mindedly, but the contact is comforting, all the same. “Look… Smith… I know I’m not someone you really… know that well, or trust that well, even, but… I just want you to know, I’d never do that. It probably doesn’t mean that much, but I just wanted to say it. It’s a disgusting thing to do.” His eyes are concerned, and sincere.

 

            “I do trust you,” Smith says unexpectedly, and then freezes because shit, he didn’t mean to say that, he didn’t even mean to think it.

 

            “Really?” Ross says, with a grin, and he sounds pretty surprised himself. “Thought I was a twat.”

 

            “That’s as maybe,” Smith confirms, trying to laugh the issue off, because shit, that’s something he needs to self-analyse later. “But, I mean, you haven’t told anyone about me, yet, as far as I know. Besides, Trott trusts you, and the little fucker’s like a crystal ball.”

 

            Ross snorts. “Great. So I’ll never have secrets again.”

 

            “Nope,” Smith says, popping the ‘p’. “Pass me another Oreo, mate. What was the other question? Hope it’s not as fucking depressing as the first one.”

 

            “Oh no, it isn’t,” Ross says cheerfully, passing him the Oreo. For a moment Smith thinks he’s going to put it in his mouth for him, and the way that Ross’s eyes linger on his lips for a moment, it’s clear that he was thinking the same thing, but he puts it clumsily in his hand instead. Smith makes sure to eat it slowly while looking up at Ross with his biggest, sweetest eyes, because he can be a seductive little shit when he wants to be. He sees Ross swallow as he watches him.

 

            “So, the other question?” Smith says casually once the Oreo is gone, and Ross seems to shake himself.

 

            “Oh yeah, what was the idea you had, before I put you under? Made you go all pink and shivery.”

 

            Smith just _knows_ he flushes again as soon as he thinks of it, goddammit. Not that Ross seems to mind. “Oh… it was just… something I’ve thought about. Not necessarily something we should do!” he clarifies quickly. “Just, y’know, a thought.”

 

            “Which was…?” Ross says, leaning in a little. Smith is in no way ready for another round, but shit it doesn’t mean that the idea of it (or indeed, of Ross’s mouth) is any less tempting.

 

            “Erm,” he says eloquently, completely distracted. Should he tell Ross? Is it too weird? Not weird enough? Well fuck, it’s not as if he’s going to be able to invent a believable idea on the spot, not with Ross looking at him like that. “It was… about you putting me under.”

 

            “Mmhmmm.”

 

            “I thought about… about you, heh… well, forcing me.” Smith’s face is burning by this point, and he drags his eyes away from Ross’s face to reach for the water bottle again. “Like, I would try and fight back, try to resist you, keep fighting to carry on what I was doing… but you’d just keep going until I… until you had complete control. Like, I couldn’t help but do anything you’d say.”

 

            Smith takes a sip from the bottle, and risks a glance up at Ross again, and no, it’s all good, he’s looking _very_ appreciative of that idea. Smith decides to flesh it out a little bit, because hey, in for a penny, in for a pound.

 

            “Like, the idea of actually being forced, is obviously not… not good, but if it was you, then it would be different, you know? You could just be, like, a bit rough with me. It would be like when you… erm… pin me down, except in my head as well, you know?”

 

            “That is a very interesting idea,” Ross says, and his voice sounds a bit choked. Smith half-laughs at the sight of him.

 

            “All right, don’t get too excited over there. I’m not ready for anything else tonight.”

 

            “Me neither,” Ross says, though he sounds a bit disappointed. “Still, though, that sounds…” He swallows again.

 

            Smith suddenly decides to throw caution to the winds, to mention what he’s only thought about in the dark of night, alone in his room with his hand down his pants. “I thought the other day,” he says hurriedly, wanting to get it out, before he loses his nerve. “Like, just a fantasy, I seriously wouldn’t want to really do this, but… you know, if we were in public? If you were trying to take me under, and I was trying not to show it, trying to fight you off, but I couldn’t help it, uhh…”

 

            He breaks off his sentence, because Ross has just drawn him into a really ardent kiss that leaves him gasping for breath.

 

            “Sorry,” Ross says, cheeks pink. “Couldn’t help myself. Holy shit, Smith.”

 

            “Like I say, I don’t really want to do that,” Smith clarifies. “Like, definitely not. But, it’s a fucking hot thought, right?”

 

            “You have no idea,” Ross says breathlessly. “The idea of you… your face all flushed, your eyes beginning to close, trying to get away from me, but…”

 

            “Mate, stop it,” Smith whines. “Don’t fucking torture me, I’m too knackered.”

 

            “You started it,” Ross says, without heat. He exhales heavily, and then offers Smith another Oreo.

 

            “You can feed me if you like,” Smith says teasingly, batting his eyelashes. Ross snorts and rolls his eyes a bit, but he does feed Smith the Oreo, his cheeks still a bit rosy.

 

            “So, anything you _do_ want to add for a list for next time, then?” Ross asks casually. “Things you liked this time, things you didn’t like?”

 

            Smith hums thoughtfully, and shifts in a little closer to Ross’s chest, still chewing. Ross is so warm and comfortable, it’s like a miracle. He feels like he could just drop off to sleep, safe and secure. “It was all good, I think,” he says thoughtfully. “Like… you didn’t press too hard with the orders, so that was good. Taking me under was… awesome, actually. I’d like more of that, more of you messing with me when I’m… yeah.”

                       

            At some point Ross starts playing with his hair again, and Smith leans gladly into it, closing his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind you… being a bit rougher, maybe? The balance is good, though. I’m not that into…” Smith swallows. “Punishment, really? I don’t know… It’s not that I couldn’t do it, I just… it doesn’t immediately appeal in the way other things do.”

 

            “I get that,” Ross says quietly. “Tell you what, we should Google one of those list things, you know, so we write down what we’re into and then compare?”

 

            “Sounds good,” Smith murmurs, feeling a little sleepy.

 

            “We should really go and get ourselves tested as well,” Ross says, a bit more seriously, nudging Smith a bit to keep him awake. “In case you wanted to… broaden our horizons, or whatever.”

 

            “D’you mean you want me to give you a blowie?” Smith taunts, shooting Ross his best filthy smirk.

 

            “Wouldn’t mind,” Ross says off-handedly. “But then you’d look very pretty all whimpering and squirming if I returned the favour, so that sounds good too.”

 

            “Eh, fuck off,” Smith says mildly. “So. What were your favourite bits? And don’t think I’m letting you get away without airing any of your dirty laundry, you must have fantasies in the filthy mind of yours.”

 

            Ross hums for a moment. “Seeing you all wound-up and excited, but trying to hold yourself back. Putting you under and the way you let go like that… that’s fucking amazing. When you start telling me what you really want, when you go all hot and embarrassed? It’s the hottest fucking thing. I mean… I dunno how you felt about the arms behind your back thing? Made me think about bondage a bit, nothing extreme, like, nothing more than that if you didn’t want, but maybe just tying your arms back like that? Maybe a blindfold? I don’t mind. Whatever you felt comfortable with. And…” Ross rubs his nose into Smith’s hair, as if embarrassed. The gesture is so unexpected, and so sweet, that Smith has to struggle not to let himself visibly freeze up with surprise. “This. Watching you all soft and relaxed. Soppy and cheesy as hell, I know, but…”

           

            Smith meets his eyes. Ah fuck, he can’t bring himself to begrudge the soppiness, because he’s feeling about the same way. Endorphins and snuggling and chocolate and all that shit. “Yeah, this is really good, like, I’ve never had aftercare like this before? But ugh…” He arches his back in a lazy stretch. “I feel like I could stay here forever, y’know?”

           

            “Mmhmm,” Ross says quietly. There’s a pause. “Oh yeah, and like, the idea of fucking you, I dunno whether you’re into that, but Jesus fucking Christ the thought of that…”

 

            Smith can’t help it, he snorts at the breaking of the cheesy moment, and after a second Ross starts laughing as well, sniggering into his hair. “Fuck’s sake, I guess the romance is over already,” Smith says, mock-mournfully. “You only want me for my fine, fine arse.”

 

            “Sorry, it’s true,” Ross says, between chuckles. “It’s too fine for your own good, I can’t contain myself.”

           

            “How am I going to tell Trott that you’ve stolen my virtue and you’re not even going to make an honest woman of me?”

 

            “I just dunno,” Ross says, acting out a distressed voice very well. “What am I going to tell him?”

 

            Smith wants to make a smart reply, but he’s just laughing too hard at the idea of Trott’s scandalised face. “Ah fuck.”

 

            They giggle ridiculously for a little while, until Smith feels tiredness sweeping over him and nestles closer into Ross’s side again. “Ugh, I’m knackered. Can I just use you as a pillow and go to sleep?”

 

            “Hmmmm,” Ross says, reaching into his bag and pulling out his phone to check the time. “Well, it’s still quite early, so you could have a nap if you want, and then I could head back to mine in half an hour or so? I mean I could stay over, but I haven’t got any stuff with me, and well…”

 

            Smith can’t be certain what he was about to say, but he can fill in the blanks himself. It’s too soon, they have a lecture in the morning, Smith’s housemates will see. “All right, mate, s’long as you stay put while I…” He clumsily smothers a yawn. “Sleep for a bit.”

 

            “Good with me,” Ross says quietly. Smith watches him set an alarm quickly on his phone, before he leans back over and snuggles in closer to Smith. The nakedness isn’t as distracting as Smith thought it would be – he’s too appreciative of the contact, and the warmth. “Comfy?”

 

            “Yeah, s’good. Don’t go without waking me up, kay?”

 

            “OK,” Ross murmurs, and strokes Smith’s hair again as he falls asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! You can thank bowsandmeows and the anon on my tumblr for incentivising me to get working on this chapter so it could come out today! Long gaps between chapters are likely to persist though, I'm afraid, but thank you for the good wishes about uni work - despite everyone's predictions about third year being hell, it's going well :) And the standard massive thank you for all the comments and love, not to mention the kudos! It makes me so excited how many people enjoy this fic. Particularly considering all the other absolutely awesome fic in this fandom, it blows my mind, so thanks again. 
> 
> Just for future reference (and I'm talking a long way in the future, if I manage to keep my commitment levels up, so please don't hold me to this), how would people feel about this moving in a Hatsome direction? I'm sure this instalment in the series will just stick to Smornby, but, well, Switch Trott has so many possibilities in this 'verse ;) Let me know any thoughts! xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God guys, it's been SO LONG. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> My excuses date back about 2 months, and start with "my laptop broke and I thought my hard drive and all my uni work and indeed all the writing I'd been working on had gone" (thankfully now recovered), then lead on to "DISSERTATION" (finally handed in) and trail off with the various dramas that have been in the Yog fandom recently. The boys talking about reading fic on stream really put me off writing for a bit (irritating/lovable twats that they are), but what the hell, I'm a shameless sucker for reviews, and how am I ever going to get them if I don't share my writing? ;) Besides, I thought some of you would like to see how the story is getting on. 
> 
> I'm also glad to report that this instalment of the series (I doubt I'll be starting on another for a while at least to be honest) is all drafted up and just needs to be edited! ... yeah it's basically this chapter and then about 7k words of porn. I got carried away. Besides, I can't tell whether the porn or the plot is the filler in this story anymore. Also, sneak preview, it's going to be in Ross's POV! Because I'm a fanfic author, not a novelist, so I'm recklessly changing it up for variety's sake. 
> 
> But anyway, enough rambling, I hope you enjoy this chapter! More to come soon! And now I've finally forced myself to sit down and write, I can go and reply to some of your tumblr messages (thank you so much for them), which I've felt too guilty about not-writing to respond to. Please review if you have the time xx

 

Smith wakes up the next morning to find that not only has the wi-fi started working again, but he has two links Ross has sent him, one to the campus health centre’s page about their walk-in sexual health clinic, and one to a Yes-No-Maybe sex list. He bookmarks the former, opens the latter and snorts at the length of it, before firing off a text to Ross.

 

***

 

He sees him in the lecture that morning, with his mates. Their eyes meet across the room, and they exchange a silent, secret stare.

 

            “Smith, mate, just pick a seat and sit down, yeah?” Trott says from behind him, poking him in the back.

 

            OK, maybe not that secret.

 

            “You saw him again last night, didn’t you?” Trott asks quietly as they get their stuff out of their bags – laptop for Smith, paper and pens for Trott.

 

            This time Smith manages to fight the urge to deny it. He’s an adult, for God’s sake, it’s not like he has to be ashamed of the odd shag. “Yeah.”

 

            Trott gives him a sharp look. The concern in his gaze is obvious. Trott always cares too much. “You’re telling me about it, after this.”

 

            “Tro-ohhhht, I thought you didn’t want the gory details.”

 

            “Well I changed my mind. And seeing how well-fucked you look this morning, maybe I should be taking notes from the guy.”

 

            Smith pulls a face, because fine maybe he is still a child, and then pointedly ignores Trott for the rest of the lecture. And if he sometimes gets distracted staring at the back of Ross’s head, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

 

            Apparently Trott is serious though, because he all but orders Smith to come round to work in his room, and Smith feels too chilled to argue about it.

 

            “So,” Trott says, closing the door firmly. “Just tell me you’re being safe, yeah?”

 

            “Who are you, my fucking mother? Don’t worry, we’ve not been exchanging any fluids, and we’re going to get checked out at the health centre, yeah?”

 

            “I didn’t mean that!” Trott huffs irritably. “I mean, good. But you know what I mean. Are you being safe with him? You’re happy with him taking you under?”

 

            “Trotty, it’s fine, you don’t need to worry about me.”

 

            “No offence, sunshine,” Trott says, his brown eyes firm and concerned. Sincerity bleeds through his tone, making Smith feel a bit bad for brushing his consideration aside. Trott’s a good friend, better than Smith deserves. “But I do worry about you. Like, I know I joke, but you’ve had some real shitty experiences, and I don’t want…”

 

            Smith still can’t quite stop himself from rolling his eyes. “You think I want that? We’re good, OK? We’re fine. He asks basically every time he moves a finger to check it’s OK with me. We even, err…” He rubs the back of his neck and avoids Trott’s eyes. “We talked about Kieran. Briefly.”

 

            Trott raises his eyebrows. “Was that OK?”

 

            “Yeah, he was all gentlemanly about it and shit. Seemed to think it was really disgusting, said he’d never do that, blah blah blah.”

 

            “It _was_ disgusting,” Trott says softly. He brushes Smith’s hand with his, a small, comfortingly intimate gesture. “But… I’m glad you said something.”

 

            “What’s this all about, Trott?” Smith asks quietly, catching Trott’s fingers in his for a brief moment before releasing them again. “The other day you were all fucking… carpe diem and that shit. Telling me I was overthinking it.”

 

            “I know, I know,” Trott says. He looks suddenly tired, and flops down on his bed. “I just… I feel like one of us should be worrying. And you look like you’ve stopped, so I should start.”

 

            “Neither of us need to worry. He’s a good guy.”

 

            “Sure you’re not just high on the subspace?” Trott asks, watching him cautiously.

 

            “No, I’m serious,” Smith says, dumping his bag on the floor and ruffling his hair. “He, look, shit, he stayed with me for ages afterwards, let me sleep on him, talked to me, all the good crap.”

 

            “Hmmmm.” The frown on Trott’s face has lifted a little. “And it doesn’t bother you that you were worst enemies like… last week?”

 

            “Well you’d be the first to say that he hadn’t done anything to deserve it,” Smith reasons. “And… well…” He feels his cheeks go red. “I mean… it’s not like that isn’t… kind of exciting? Risky, you know?” What he really means is that entertaining the fantasies of Ross aggressively pinning him to walls as they shout at each other is really fucking hot, but he’s not going to go into that with Trott. Not stone-cold sober, anyway.

 

            “Jesus, it’s like you’re some kind of adrenaline junkie,” Trott says exhaustedly, though he’s smirking a bit now. “It is nice to see you happy mate, don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to pour cold water on anything.”

 

            There’s a moment of eye contact, of something between them that Smith can’t quite define.

 

            “It’d take a lot more than cold water to put me off, if you know what I mean,” Smith leers, breaking the silence, and Trott sighs and throws a pen at him.

            

***

  
That afternoon, he arranges to meet up with Ross at the health centre drop-in on Friday, and begins combing through the internet list Ross sent, ticking off the stuff he would and wouldn’t be into. Shit, this feels a very mature thing to be doing, maybe he is some kind of adult after all. Aside from the face-pulling and the sense of humour, of course, because some of the suggestions on the online Yes/No/Maybe list make him laugh so hard that he nearly falls off his chair, and then naturally he has to text Ross about them.

 

            He’s itching to see him again, already, but reminds himself that he does actually have uni work to do, and there’s always the chance that Ross actually has other friends or other things he’d rather be doing. Still, it’s not really his fault that doing this wretched list thing is making him horny. There’s all the standard stuff – a massive painplay section that he skirts around cautiously and “Maybe”s a couple of items in, boundaries around being taken under, some simple vanilla sex stuff too. But some of them, even things he hadn’t really thought he’d be into, make him very hot under the collar when he imagines doing them with Ross. The good thing is that they’ll only be able to see their mutual “Yes”s and “Maybe”s, so Ross won’t know how kinky he is unless his preferences drift the same way.

 

            Thursday he forces himself to actually knuckle down and get some more exam prep done, but actually he finds focusing on it comes more easily than it has in weeks. It’s not like he needs a fantastic mark, but he doesn’t want to spoil all the effort he’s put in this year for a shitty one. He hates revision, but the thought that if he really gets plenty done he can spend more time with Ross the next day or over the weekend spurs him on. And if it’s a bit frightening that that’s what’s motivating him, he reminds himself that he can always hang out at Trott’s and play games instead. Or go out clubbing, come to that, but few people on his course tend to be up for that so near to exams, and he’s just about had enough of his housemates. He and Ross text again, mostly complaining about exams and how unfair it is that they’ve still got to lectures to come on topics that they’ll be assessed on.

 

            (He spends Thursday evening finishing off working through the Yes/No/Maybe list and wondering if dragging Ross back to his after the sexual health drop-in would be too forward).

 

***

 

            The appointment is actually pretty underwhelming, all in all. Smith doesn’t really know what he expected, but the Sub nurse is very friendly, and though he felt quite anxious and daring tapping the small “S” on the screen when he signed in at reception, it’s nice to be able to have a frank chat with someone of his own dynamic. He reassures her that he hasn’t had any symptoms, she approves of him being safe with a new partner, they have a brief gossip about how some Doms can be dickheads, and then he pisses in a cup and is free to go.

 

            Ross is waiting for him outside when he comes out, face tilted upwards to enjoy the morning sunshine. “You all right, mate?” Smith asks, shoving him a little. Ross turns and grins.

 

            “Yeah not too bad, was it? Did they say it’d take a couple of days for yours too?”

 

            “Yeah, I’ve given them my number so they can call me,” Smith says quietly as they begin to walk back to campus together.

 

            “Same here. Did you get the same nurse as me, or a different one?”

 

            “Dunno, different one I think, what was yours like?”

 

            “Some weird old Dom guy with massive glasses?”

 

            Smith flings his head back and laughs. “No mate, mine was a woman, like early thirties? She was nice.”

 

            “Fuck off,” Ross says disappointedly. “I have the worst fucking luck, I swear to God. This guy was like a really creepy granddad or something, he seemed so proud that I was ‘getting some’. Urgh.” He gives an huge exaggerated mock-shudder, and Smith only laughs harder at him. They make eye contact, and Ross returns his stupid grin. It’s not quite one of those stupid film moments when the whole world fades away but for your lover’s eyes, but it’s damn close.

 

            Smith suddenly remember what he was going to ask, and clears his throat. “Erm, mate, you don’t fancy coming round mine, do you? Or this afternoon? If you’ve got time?”

 

            Ross looks pleased at the prospect, but then frowns. “Ugh, I was going to finish typing up some lecture notes this afternoon. I’m so behind. What about this evening?”

 

            Smith swallows. “Yeah, this evening sounds good.”

 

            “You could come round mine if you wanted. I’ve got an ensuite bathroom, so eh… If you wanted to stay over, you wouldn’t have to worry about my housemates seeing you running off half-naked to the shower.”

 

            Smith’s heart thuds almost painfully. Staying over means spending the night spooning and the morning having another round as far as he’s concerned, which is pretty fantastic news. But what he says is, “Ensuite bathroom, holy crap! Sign me up! You lucky bastard, are you made of money or something?”

 

            “Nah, it’s one of the shittier accommodation blocks, and there’s sixteen to a kitchen, so swings and roundabouts really.”

 

            Smith whistles. “Sixteen?! Holy shit, not going to be cooking me a three course meal then?”

 

            “Nah, I was thinking takeaway to be honest?”

 

            “Perfect.”

 

            They have another slightly-awkward slightly-sweet eye contact moment, and then Ross shoves his hands in his pockets and nods towards the library. “Anyway, I’d better get going. You don’t normally go to the library, do you?”

 

            “Nah mate, not unless I’ve got a last-minute deadline or fancy a quick handy round the back of it, eh?” Smith mutters, giving him another furious nudge that’s more like a shove. Ross chokes a little. “Anyway, I’ll see you later, yeah? What time?”

 

            “Seven?”

 

            “OK, sounds good.”

 

            “See you then.” Ross leans a little closer, so no one else can hear. “Have a think about what you want to do, yeah? I want your best filthy ideas.”

 

            And with that he’s gone, leaving Smith wondering why the hell he can’t pull off the sexy parting remarks. Maybe it’s because he’s bad at the parting bit.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because someone requested it, Ross POV! I thought we needed some time to appreciate the sexiness of Smith. Hope it doesn't feel too jarring, but hey, why not take advantage of my author-privileges freedom? Hopefully though if this part of the story can stretch to 10 chapters, we could have 5 from Smith, 5 from Ross? Ah, that beautiful symmetry.

Smith is half-frowning, half-squinting in contemplation as he examines the Chinese menu. “So, you decided then?” Ross asks, aware of the double meaning.

 

            Smith’s eyes dart quickly up to meet his, and the thoughtful face splits into a dirty grin. “Yeah, I reckon I have,” he says, lowering the menu and waggling his eyebrows. Ross knows he’s playing up the bravado for comic effect, but it doesn’t make it any less attractive, unfortunately.

 

            “And?” He can’t help raising his eyebrows in response and enjoying the widening of Smith’s smirk.

 

            “Sweet and sour chicken?” God, he’s deliciously infuriating.

 

            “Don’t be a twat, you know what I mean.”

 

            Smith’s eyes flash with the challenge of winding him up further. The grin stays in place. “Order the food first.”

           

            Ross rolls his eyes in what he knows is a vain effort to seem cool and impartial, and tugs the menu from Smith, flipping it over to find the phone number. He’d banter for longer, but they lost track of time playing video games and it’s getting late, and he’s hungry. He studiously avoids Smith’s eyes while he’s ordering, because otherwise he’ll doubtless get distracted and say the wrong thing. Once he hangs up triumphantly, he rewards himself by allowing himself to admire Smith’s impatient pouting. “Right, they say they’ll be 20 minutes.”

 

            “Blimey, that’s quick,” Smith teases. “Not going to have much time for foreplay then, are we?”

 

            Enough of this. Ross wants answers. “Go on, what do you want?” Ross asks, leaning a little closer and watching Smith’s Adam’s apple bob, betraying his interest. “Tell me.”

 

            Ross likes this. He likes the games, the playing, the easy back-and-forth of it. He likes the power shifting between the two of them, and doesn’t know if he prefers it when he’s fully in control, or when Smith is trying to tease it back. He knows he’s going to win in the end, though.

 

            “Come a bit closer, and I’ll tell you,” Smith says nonchalantly, crossing one leg over the other from his vantage-point on Ross’s bed, sitting with his back to the wall and smiling up coyly. The teasing is predictable, but not ineffective.

 

            Ross gives a long-suffering sigh, and leans in closer. He presses one of his hands against the wall beside Smith’s head to support himself, and he senses Smith squirm a little beneath him. Ross watches his throat bob again. God, the way he pretends not to be affected, even though Ross can _sense it_ , is so attractive. He can’t wait to stretch him out bare and helpless before him again.

           

            “Smith,” he says reproachfully, deepening his voice a little.

 

            To his credit, Smith only hesitates and stumbles over his words for a moment, apparently distracted by the proximity, before producing a shit-eating grin.

 

            “Yeah so, this evening, I want _you_ to decide. We’ve done a fair bit of eh… exploring my kinks already. You mentioned maybe a bit of bondage the other day…” Smith spreads his hands open in an offering gesture, and yes, the implied trust in that movement is _very_ compelling, especially coming from _him_. “Here I am. Knock yourself out. Have me all helpless and at your mercy.”

 

            God, Ross must be easier to read than he’d thought. He licks his dry lips to give himself a moment. “You’re sure?”

           

            “Sure, go for it.” Smith’s voice is cocky, but Ross knows this can’t be easy, knows this means a shitload (not that Smith would appreciate him pointing it out). There’s no hesitation in his posture or voice though, not now Ross isn’t crowding him and trying to distract him.

 

            Ross feels a grin spreading over his face, and then facepalms and lets out a groan-chuckle. “Fuck, I should’ve known you’d plan something like this, now I can’t decide what I want to do with you.” God, the images running through his head are… extensive. Smith on his knees. Smith bent over the bed. Smith tied up with dark cords to show off his pale skin. Smith wearing a blindfold, back arched. Smith whimpering for more. Smith, pushed under so deep that his eyes go wide and his mouth falls meekly open.

 

            “Well, you’ve got all the time in the world, mate… As long as you decide by the time we finish eating, or I might just get bored and go home.” Smith must know what he’s doing – he looks smug enough anyway.

 

            Ross pulls a face. “You’re not fooling me, I can tell you’re gagging for it.”

 

            Smith grimaces and rolls his eyes. He doesn’t deny it though, and his cheeks are a little pink. “Fuck off. Now, can I have a shower before the takeaway gets here?”

 

            “Yeah, sure.” Ross suddenly hesitates a moment. More images have flooded over him. Smith, naked, water streaming down his body. Smith damp and pliant, skin blushed with warmth. Drops glistening on his skin. Maybe a little gasp, or moan, as the water washes over him.

 

            “What is it?”

 

            Another hits him. Smith half-dressed, wearing a shirt half-open – or even better, Ross’s shirt. Trousers loose on his hips, sticking slightly to damp skin. Ross undressing him, owning him. He bites his lip to bring himself back to the present. “It… doesn’t matter.”

 

            “Tell me,” Smith murmurs, leaning forwards on his knees. Ross raises his eyebrows, as if to imply that he’s not so easily provoked, though they both know it’s not true. Arousal pools in his groin at the sight of Smith in that position.

 

            “I was… I was just thinking… it’s stupid… But you could…” Ross can feel his face glow hot. “You could put on something of mine, once you’re done? Clothes, I mean.”

 

            The cocky, flirtatious expression slips off Smith’s face for a moment, to be replaced with a little “oh” of surprise, and a flash of obedient longing. It only takes him a second to recover, but he does that _damn_ squirm again, apparently before he can help it.

 

           “Heh, as long as it’s not your frilly panties, mate.”

 

            Ross grins. “Haven’t got any. Not that you wouldn’t look lovely in them. Just some pyjamas or something, OK?”

 

            “Sounds good,” Smith says, and his voice sounds a little hoarser, his pupils look a little wider. Ross has won this round.

 

            He smiles, and leans a little closer just to pay Smith back for some of the teasing. “Go on then, go shower. I’ll pick it out.”

 

***

                                                                                                      

By the time the takeaway arrives, they’ve both had showers, and Smith is wearing a pair of baggy pyjama pants that look a little too short for him, and a Superdry hoodie. He looks soft and comfortable and ready to have them pulled gently off him, and most importantly, he looks like _Ross’s_. Like he’s crawled naked out of Ross’s bed, been given some clothes, but knows they’re coming off again sometime very soon. It’s not entirely surprising how gratifying Ross finds that, but predictability in no way diminishes the charm.

 

            “So,” Smith says, through a mouthful of sweet and sour chicken, kicking Ross’s leg slightly. They’re sitting opposite each other on the floor, because Ross didn’t want to risk the bed. Finding cold rice in one’s bed is not sexy. They’ve eaten in silence for most of the meal, but it’s the concentrating-on-food kind of silence, not an awkward one. “What do you think?”

 

            Ross meets his eyes, holds the stare for a few moments until Smith opens his food-filled mouth in retaliation. “Couple of things,” he says quietly, because he doesn’t want to seem too eager, in case Smith isn’t comfortable and wants to back out of some of this. The way Smith’s showy aggression and resistance gives way into sheer delicious eagerness-to-please is a massive turn-on, but Ross worries it could be exploited. “You said you were OK with light bondage, yeah? I want to tie your arms to the headboard, then take you under. And maybe blindfold you later.”

 

            Smith swallows his mouthful quickly, eyes wide, and then winces a bit. “Ow. Uh, I mean, yes.”

 

            Ross watches him carefully, looking for any hesitance or reservation. “Do you have anything you’d like to add?”

 

            “I…” Smith hesitates. He stirs his carton of chicken.

 

            Ross raises an eyebrow, but lets the silence hang so Smith can say what he wants to say.

 

            “I’ve never done bondage stuff before,” Smith blurts. “But, like, I’m still on board with it. And blindfolds are OK, but you don’t mess around with me and pretend like you’ve gone out of the room or any of that shit, or I’ll get the damn thing off. Stay with me, yeah?”

 

            Ross nods sincerely. Completely understandable. The trust between them at the moment is genuine, but fragile, and he has no intention of testing it this early. But if he can know Smith’s doubts ahead of time, it means he won’t do anything to inadvertently worry him.

 

            “Erm,” Smith considers again, and then his eyebrows shoot up in sudden inspiration. He gives a funny strangled, surprised noise. Ross gives him a questioning look, and takes a prawn cracker. “Oh! We could… um… You could take me under first, and then tie me down when I was out of it.”

           

            The blood rushes to Ross’s face, and for a moment he’s afraid he’s going to choke on the prawn cracker. He crunches it and swallows it quickly. “Fuck, mate. You have a real thing for being forced, don’t you?”

 

            Smith bares his teeth in a fearsome grin. “You betcha.”

 

            “OK then. I mean, I like it too, so I’m not complaining.” Ross rubs self-consciously at the blush on his cheeks. ”I still won’t take you so deep that you’ll struggle to safeword, though. In fact I might not push it as far as last time – the rougher we’re being, the more alert I want you in case you don’t like anything, yeah?”

 

            “Fine with me.” Smith takes another mouthful of chicken.

 

            “OK, so it might be easier to start on the bed when I take you under, or do you want me to move you?” Ross asks thoughtfully, looking around the room, imagining how the scene will play out.

 

            Smith makes a face. “Mate, this was supposed to be about you, we’re going back to what I want to do.” He looks a bit sheepish, almost ashamed, like he doesn’t think he should be having input.

 

            Right, Ross has got to try not to fuck this up. He gives Smith a long look and points his fork at him. “It’s what we both want to do. Just because I’m discussing it with you, doesn’t mean I’m not going to get choices about it too. We both need to be happy with it, and like, actively happy, not just going along with it. If you’re doing something you’re not good with, not only are you having a crap time, but it’ll ruin a lot more than the mood for me if I realise. I need you to be into it as much as I am.”

 

            Smith holds one hand up in a defensive gesture. “I wasn’t saying I wasn’t into any of it, like I really, really am. And I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.”

 

            There’s a deafening moment of silence that lingers at the end of that sentence. Ross instantly knows that’s a white lie, and a second later, Smith’s expression shows that he knows Ross knows. Ross struggles to keep his expression neutral, because he thinks he knows the kind of Doms who’ve got Smith to do things he didn’t want to do in the past. Their influence feels like it’s hanging over the room, vague but unmistakable. God, the idea makes him so angry, knowing that some people will _push_ Subs to do what they want, exploit their needs. And knowing how greedy Smith is for praise, how grateful and relieved he looks to get off, he _knows_ that dickheads have taken advantage of him in the past.

 

            Smith exhales, gives a single shake of his head. “OK, I wouldn’t do that with _you_ , OK?” he corrects himself. “I know you want me to… have a good time, or whatever, but I just feel weird if I’m the one who makes the decisions about stuff we do.”

 

            Ross pauses, considers. “Like, because you want me to be in control of the decision-making in a Dom kind of way? Or because you feel like the decisions aren’t equal enough at the moment?”

 

            Smith nods. “The second one.”

 

            “OK, good, because as far as I’m concerned, our dynamics shouldn’t come into the decision-making part of it. Like, if you want me to take control during sex, that’s fine, but we need to talk about that in a equal way before we start. If I make the decisions before and during the sex, that’s… not what should be happening. I’m not in a Dom mindset 24/7.” He doesn’t want to admit yet just how easily the Dom persona slides off him, because it’s pretty clear Smith thinks he’s a pure Dom, but that’s a conversation for another day. “And I know you’re definitely not in a Sub one. It doesn’t have to… define everything we do.”

 

            The relief and understanding that passes over Smith’s face gives Ross a warm glow in his stomach. “No, it’s OK, that’s not what I was asking. I just… I don’t want to be selfish, so we’re always doing stuff I’ve suggested. And this evening I wanted you to choose what we were doing, but we’ve got diverted by my stupid idea.”

 

            “It’s not stupid,” Ross says firmly. “Just the thought of it made you look like someone had pressed all your buttons at once. And I really want to do it, too. But I want to do it in the way you want, because you came up with it and might have more of an idea of what you had in mind. If you don’t, that’s fine. But we both have to be happy with everything we’re doing.”

 

            “No, I get that. I… yeah. Thanks.” Smith nods again. His hand twitches, as if he wants to reach out to Ross, but he aborts the gesture. Ross gets it, though. The subject is closed for now, but Smith is grateful.

 

            “Anyway,” Smith continues, as if they’d never got diverted. “I’d like it if we start over here, and then you take me under, and then get me over to the bed. I like… I like knowing that I’m…” He coughs awkwardly.

 

            “You’re what?” Ross asks, his smirk returning. He shifts a bit closer. Smith puts down his fork.

 

            “That I’m… uh… vulnerable like that, like you can… Like you can do anything you want to me.” Ross swallows at the sight of him, eyes wide, pupils dilated. He can’t resist – he leans forward for a kiss, hand cupping Smith’s jaw. Smith’s mouth gasps open, and he lets Ross take control for a moment, before he seems to come back to himself and returns the favour, pressing Ross back a little. His hand reaches to press decisively against Ross’s thigh, and in return Ross pulls his hair a little. God, it looks good messy like that. Smith’s grin shows he knows it, too.

 

            Reluctantly, Ross pulls back a little. “Stop a moment. We need to talk about other things before we get too carried away.”

 

            Smith whines. “Come _on_ , enough talking already.”

 

            Ross is tempted. God, he’s tempted. But no, one of them has to be the sensible one. “One more thing,” he promises, and gets up to go to his chest of drawers. He finds what he’s looking for quickly, before Smith can start complaining again, and brings the long dark strip of fabric over. Smith glances up at him curiously.

 

            “For the bondage,” Ross says quickly, sitting back down next to Smith and handing it over for examination. “It’s soft, won’t graze your skin. I find handcuffs a bit tacky, and it’s hard to get the sizing right. This I can just loop around the bedpost and around your wrists. Sound OK?”

 

            Smith is examining the satiny coil with a funny look in his eyes. “Yeah, this is good.”

 

            “You sure?”

 

            “Yeah.” Smith glances up. He looks self-conscious, but determined. “So. You done this before, then?”

 

            Ah, Ross had wondered if he’d ask. “Yeah, I have. Only a couple of times. Don’t worry, I washed it.”

 

            Smith snorts a little at the poor joke, but still looks preoccupied. “Was it… was it good?”

 

            “Yes,” Ross says honestly. “Girl I knew from school. We weren’t serious, but we had fun.”

 

            “I wish mine’d been good,” Smith says, very quietly, and then sets the fabric down and lunges for Ross, dragging him into a savage kiss.

 

            “Smith, wait,” Ross manages, trying to extricate himself from a very enthusiastic lapful of Smith, which is about as difficult and disappointing as it sounds. “Are you OK? Do you want to talk about this?”

 

            “No,” Smith says breathlessly. “I want you to take me under. Now.”

 

            Ross hesitates. God, he thinks they should talk about this at some point. But Smith seems to have a one-track mind right now, and he’s seemed more talkative post-sex than before, so maybe it’s not a bad tack to take. Right. His brain whirs, double-checking he hasn’t forgotten anything. “OK. If you’re sure. And is it OK if I give you a blowjob? I have con…”

 

            Smith kisses him again, and pushes him to the floor, crawling over to his body and doing a kind of _undulation_ that presses them incredibly close together and feels so good it should be illegal. “Yes,” he breathes into Ross’s mouth. “Yes, do it. Just take me under already.”

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE SECOND CHAPTER GUYS (I couldn't quite bring myself to be that much of a tease...)

 

 

 

            Ross doesn’t need to be told a third time. First, though, to turn the tables. He leans up to kiss Smith, and, pulling on his hair a bit, shifts their position so they’re first lying side by side (hopefully avoiding knocking over the takeaway tubs with their legs, but he can’t be bothered to care all that much), and then so he can take his turn to lie Smith on his back and push him into the carpet. Smith’s eyelids flutter. His pupils are wide again, making his eyes dark. Ross can feel his erection pressing up against his groin, hot and eager.

 

            “I’d ask you if you were ready,” Ross growls in his ear, Smith’s stubble brushing his cheek, and Smith gives a little shudder. “But I can tell you’re past ready. Look at you. You love this, don’t you?”

 

            Smith’s breath is coming in little gasps. Ross noses his ear, kisses a little, to feel the tremble in the body beneath. “ _Down you go_ ,” he whispers.

 

            Guiding a Sub under can be difficult, and it takes control and concentration, neither of which are easy when Smith is being _so distracting_. Ross finds that going slow and focusing absolutely on it for a few moments is enough to get Smith deep enough. The balance is a frighteningly tricky one to find sometimes, between taking a Sub too far, or not far enough, like walking on a tightrope, but with Smith it seems easy to find a natural resting point.

 

            It helps that with Smith, the change in him is very clear to see. The nervy aggression drains straight out of him, like a switch has been flipped. His eyes go soft, and drift their way half-closed. A little smile flutters over his lips, which fall slightly open. His limbs are slack and relaxed. His breathing is deep and unhurried.

 

            God, Ross loves the squabbling and the playful conflict, but damn, he also _loves_ this.

 

            “There we go,” he says, free to be careful and gentle without feeling Smith’s sharp tongue. “That good?”

 

            Smith nods slowly. The hands that were clinging to Ross’s back slacken their grip. Ross takes a moment to rest his face against Smith’s, exhale slowly, enjoy the feeling of quiet power. It’s a lot, sometimes almost too much, feeling Smith’s trust on him like this, but he enjoys every moment. He runs a hand through Smith’s hair, and Smith’s eyelids flutter a little.

        

         “God, you’re beautiful like this.” His voice is gruff, because God, it’s so overwhelming having Smith laid out before him. He kisses him on the mouth, a little roughly, but Smith groans a little and opens up for him. He’s so willing. Ross is so hard that it’s almost painful.

 

         Eventually, he drags himself away, moving to kneel beside him. “Right. Can you kneel up for me? I’ll help you.”

 

         Smith is slow to respond, his lips still moving slightly as if Ross is still kissing him. But then he levers himself slowly upwards, putting his large hands on the floor to steady himself. Despite the slow speed of his movements, there’s a certain grace to it - he’s so very careful and determined. His cheeks are a little flushed. His blue eyes fixate on Ross’s, a little glazed, but full of single-minded dedication.

 

         “There we go. There’s a good boy.” Ross shuffles forwards and can’t resist pressing his hand to Smith’s cheek, and moving it gently down his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin, the prickle of his beard, and the quick jump of his pulse. He can feel Smith’s throat vibrate in a small moan at the sensation.

 

         “Right, I’m going to take this jacket off you, yeah?” Ross moves slowly for it, but when Smith nods slowly and doesn’t object, he moves a little more quickly for the zip. He can’t wait to get Smith more naked. “You look so good in this, you know? I knew you would. You look like you’re mine.”

 

         “Yours,” Smith slurs unexpectedly, and Ross glances up from his fiddling with the zip in surprise. Does… does Smith mean that? Or is he talking about the jacket? No use interrogating him now. But the thought sends a warm shiver through him nonetheless.

 

         He pulls the zip down slowly, letting his fingers stroke down Smith’s chest slowly as it appears. Fuck, the guy is so attractive, but the feeling of the blue eyes watching him is too distracting to ignore. He pulls Smith into another demanding kiss, and pushes the jacket off his arms. Now there just a hot expanse of bare skin to caress, and God that’s good. Smith is big - taller and maybe stockier than Ross is - but here he is, at his mercy, leaning his head down and forward a little to meet Ross’s lips.

 

         Ross gets so distracted in the kissing that he almost forgets what he was planning, until his free hand drifts down to catch Smith’s, and he wraps his fingers round the wrist instinctively. Smith’s wrists. Tied to the bedposts. Yes.

 

         “Come on, mate,” he says, a little breathlessly, drawing back again and urging the groggy Smith to his feet. The feeling of power is heady. “Up on the bed. There we go. On your back.”

 

         Smith obeys beautifully. Ross can see his cock obscenely tenting the pyjama pants. He lies back into the pillows, looking beseechingly up at Ross, mouth open. Ross manages to gasp out a “fuck,” at the sight, before he gives into temptation and crawls on top of Smith, bringing the strip of dark fabric with him. Pressing Smith down into the bed is intoxicating. Smith is both giving and resisting beneath him, groaning a little and pathetically trying to surge up beneath him. But Ross can easily overpower him, push him back and quieten him with more kisses. For a moment, he loses himself again, because the urgent passion has faded for a moment. Smith’s skin is warm and he wants to carry on doing this _forever_ , pressing quiet, affectionate, chaste kisses to the soft vulnerability of him. He wants Smith to feel safe and loved and to know how beautiful he is, and crap this is a dangerous way to start thinking… But luckily a moment later it’s forced from his mind as Smith gives a particularly filthy groan and bucks his hips up desperately.

 

         “OK, OK,” Ross murmurs. “Impatient.” He takes Smith’s hands in his (big hands, a certain coarseness to the palms, but warm and yielding), and pins them up above his head. “Stay still, now.” And then he begins winding the fabric around his arms and over and around the bedposts, not too tight, but taut enough to give a little resistance.

 

         Smith has gone quiet underneath him by the time he’s finished, and Ross notices with a jolt that he seems to have gone down even deeper, become even more calm and pliant. He seems to like the feeling of being anchored like this. Ross takes one more moment to appreciate him, experiencing that same brief surge of deep affection, before he whispers, “Up you come, come back, Smith.”

 

         It doesn’t take long. The not-insubstantial muscles in Smith’s arms flex suddenly, and when Ross glances back to Smith’s face, having been momentarily distracted, the challenging, toothy grin is back in place.

 

         “Welcome back. Enjoy yourself?” Ross asks coyly.

 

         “Yeah, did you?” Smith teases, tugging at his restraints again and undulating his body again effortlessly. “Like me like this, do you?”

 

         “Yes I do,” Ross smirks, running a hand across Smith’s stomach and watching the muscles jump. “What’s more, you like it too.”

 

         He moves his gaze back up to Smith’s face, but his hand shifts lower, and he palms Smith through his trousers. Smith can’t hide the flash of arousal, and as Ross gives a single long stroke, his leg shudders a little and his mouth falls open in a groan.

 

         “Th-that’s not fair, mate,” he manages to grumble, though it looks like his eyes are very close to rolling back in his head. “Where’s the fun in that? No point getting me all tied up if you’re just going to jerk me off right away, is there?”

 

         Ross pulls a considering face. “I dunno. This is pretty good.” He increases the pressure of his hand, and Smith’s eyelids flutter as he arches his head back to expose his throat.

 

         “Come on, we’ve barely got started,” Smith protests.

 

            Ross leans a little closer. “Sorry, this is you asking me… _not_ to get you off?”

 

            Smith bites his lip. “Hnnn. I want…”

 

            He twists his head sideways into the pillow, as if to muffle his words. Ross uses his free hand to turn his head gently back into position. “What do you want?”

           

            Smith gives an odd embarrassed half-laugh, not meeting Ross’s eyes. “It’s not anything exciting, mate.”

 

            This calls for serious action. Ross leans close into Smith’s face, moving both his hands back up to the headboard to stroke his fingers over Smith’s palms. “Tell me,” he breathes, trying to force the eye contact.

 

            Whether it’s the proximity, or Ross’s quiet voice, as though he’s afraid someone will overhear them, Smith chews his lip again, and then spills. “I want… I just want this to last, y’know? When we’re doing this, I wish it’d never fucking stop.”

 

            He finally meets Ross’s eyes, but Ross is so taken-aback that he doesn’t immediately have a smart answer. Instead he presses their foreheads together, and then indulges in a slow kiss. “’Course, Smith,” he mumbles around his lips. “Feel the same.”

 

            He doesn’t know what to say, because this suddenly seems very serious. His heart is beating much faster with the sudden emotion that it was before from arousal. Because God, he knows how Smith feels, how two sessions of this haven’t nearly been enough, how both times he’s been torn by the need to get off and the need to drag out the experience. This time, now he knows Smith a little better, it’s even stronger. And for Smith to want that too, and to want it enough to _say_ it, even those he was clearly self-conscious, seems such a massive deal that his head spins with it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are enormously appreciated, as always (and please request anything you fancy, I only thought of doing Ross POV because ghostofgatsby suggested it!!). and there will be orgasms next time I promise xoxoxo


	8. Chapter 8

“Right then,” he says firmly, drawing back from Smith’s sinful mouth reluctantly. “You asked for it. Let’s take it slow, yeah? I know what you’re like, you’ll be begging to come in a couple of minutes away.”

 

            Smith rolls his eyes.

 

            “Do you want anything in particular, or…?”

 

            Smith just shrugs, so Ross turns his attention to his bound hands first. He massages the palms a little bit, to check they’re not cramping up in the unnatural position. Traces the very slight calluses on the fingers, brushes against the skin tentatively, trying to tickle.

 

            The funny squirm and grunt that Smith gives lets him known he’s succeeded, and he grins down at him. “Do you want to be under for this, by the way?”

 

            Smith shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. Unless I start dying of boredom, then maybe.”

 

            “Fuck off, you literally asked for this,” Ross mutters, and kisses him again. Once he’s finished, he returns his attention to Smith’s hands. Satisfied, he moves down to his arms (strong, tense, a few scars here and there), and then down to his chest and neck. It’s odd for Smith to be so quiet when he’s not under, but he’s just watching everything Ross does with bright eyes, breaths coming fast.

 

            When he runs an exploratory hand over Smith’s neck, Smith gives a little moan and shifts to allow him more room. Ross hesitates, but he very gently stretches his fingers around Smith’s throat, without exerting any pressure, just to see how it looks. Smith’s Adam’s apple bobs under his hand, and suddenly Ross is so _aware_ of Smith’s arousal. And he’s feeling the same way to be honest, the sight of his hand there is really… doing things to him.

 

            He leaves Smith’s face for the moment, and traces his chest instead, teasing Smith’s slightly puffy nipples a little and watching his muscles twitch. Abdomen, hips, then he slides the pyjamas pants down and off (avoiding his groin, of course), revealing surprisingly skinny legs, and eventually moving down to have a go at tickling his feet again.

 

            By the time his examination is done, Ross has lost track of time. His world has narrowed to the movement of Smith’s chest up and down, the way he groans a little when Ross touches a certain place, the way his eyelids flutter, the way he mutters a swearword occasionally. That feeling of closeness, of affection, is rising strongly again. He feels almost as if he’s going under himself, and feels a harsh pang that he pushes swiftly away.

 

            “We’ve forgotten something,” he says lightly, and leans off the bed to grab the blindfold. Smith rolls his eyes, and then ruins it by licking his lips slightly. “You still OK with this?”

 

            “Yeah,” Smith says, his voice surprisingly low and rough, and then gives a little coughing laugh to clear the hoarseness. “Yeah, I’m good.”

 

            It’s too easy to be gentle, tying around the blindfold around Smith’s head. Ross lifts his head carefully, ties the knot at the side so it won’t dig into the back of Smith’s skull. Pulls back a little to admire his handiwork. Smith is grinning, probably because he realises how debauched he looks. Any lingering self-consciousness about his nakedness seems to have left him. Ross runs his thumb over Smith’s bottom lip, which Smith allows with a ridiculously pornographic moan. Ross can’t help snorting with laughter, and Smith starts sniggering as well, a stupid wheezy chuckle that seems to engulf his whole body.

 

            “Stop it,” Ross says ineffectually, unable to stop laughing himself. “Why have you got to fucking ruin the moment?”

 

            Smith takes a gulp of air in between chuckles. “Well mate, when you can’t see anything, you just feel like a bit of a twat, and so things seem less sexy and more funny. Thought I’d give the porn star impression a go.”

 

            Ross snorts again, but tries to get them back on track. “Do you want me to take you under and give you a blowjob, or not?”

 

            Surprisingly, Smith stops laughing, and actually looks unsure. “Erm, do you mind if we don’t this time? This is just already quite new, y’know? I don’t wanna feel…” He pauses, bites his lip.

 

            Ross thinks he might be going to say, or is at least thinking, “overwhelmed”, but he interrupts with, “What, you don’t want to get bored too soon if we lose all the exciting new moves in one go?”

 

            “Well I’m pretty bored now to be honest with you,” Smith jokes, thrusting his hips meaningfully. “You forget I haven’t got anything to feast my eyes on, unlike you.”

 

            “Bossy,” Ross complains lightly. “What about just my hand then?”

 

            Smith nods, and the gesture sends such a wash of heat over him that Ross is suddenly abruptly conscious of how many clothes he’s still wearing. God, he’d almost forgotten. He strips off his t-shirt immediately, and wastes no time settling down, lying next to Smith. He lets his lips brush Smith’s cheek, and Smith turns blindly into the contact, snarkiness forgotten for the moment. The blindfold is dark on his pale skin, and it draws Ross’s eyes to his very visible lips somehow. They fall naturally into kissing, and Ross gropes his way down to Smith’s groin, hoping he doesn’t grab Smith at a funny angle when he gets there.

 

            When he finally touches Smith’s cock, Smith gives a choked gasp that turns into yet another laugh. “Sorry, wasn’t expecting that. The, er, blindfold has got some things going for it, I guess.”

           

            “It’s OK,” Ross whispers, glancing down to appreciate the view of Smith becoming slowly fully erect again as his hand pumps up and down. “It’s good for surprises.” On an impulse, he leans down and licks one of Smith’s nipples. Smith’s whole body jumps; his stomach muscles contract and his arms jolt against the fabric holding them.

 

            “Fuck!”

 

            “I’ve got you,” Ross says placidly. “I’ve got you all safe and tied down for me. All mine.”

 

            Smith laughs again, but jerks and moans at the same time. “Fuck, Ross, God, you’re too much, you know?” His words are punctuated by gasps that Ross wishes he could replay over and over again.

 

            He leaves Smith’s cock straining for a moment to trace the trail of hair on Smith’s stomach and make him squirm again, but returns a moment later because God the sight of Smith losing control like this is just too good to miss.

 

            “You going to come when I tell you?” Ross asks softly, and Smith nods feverishly. The cocky, nervous banter comes and goes, but like this he’s obedient and vulnerable, torn open for Ross to see. “OK if I take you under a bit as you do?” Smith nods again.

 

            Ross counts slowly in his head as he watches Smith get more and more worked up, watches the sweat bead on his forehead, the muscles tense in his arms as he struggles, watches his heels dig fruitlessly into the bed, the way his mouth trembles open a little wider. His cock is dark and engorged and wet with pre-come.

           

            “Fuck, Ross, mate, come on, please…?” Smith manages, long after Ross has expected him to give in. “Please.”

 

            “Begging already?”

 

            “Please, just let me…”

 

            “All right,” Ross relents, and concentrates on speeding up his strokes as he pushes Smith under for a moment and murmurs, “Come on then.”

 

            Watching Smith’s face as he climaxes feels shockingly intimate, but the blindfold gives Ross the freedom to ogle as much as he likes. Smith's whole body seems to give a gratifying shudder. He releases Smith’s cock before it becomes oversensitive, and murmurs that he’s going to untie his arms as he moves to do so. Smith nods dopily as the fabric slips free, and Ross moves his arms back into a more natural position, massaging them a little, just in case they’ve been a little overstretched.

 

            “Can I take this off?” Smith mumbles, his hand brushing the blindfold.

 

            “Yeah, yeah, of course,” Ross says quickly, helping him to loosen it. He’s a little worried that he’s been pushed a bit too far, but Smith’s face is bright and smiling as he pushes the blindfold back so it scrapes his tufty hair back like a stupid bandana. Ross can’t help scoffing at the sight.

 

            “You are so fucking good at that, it’s not fair,” Smith gripes, as he leans over to grab a tissue from the bedside table. “And you’re not even naked, what the fuck.” He smirks at Ross staring, and open his legs with a flirtatious wink. “What do you want from me, then?”

 

            Ross feels a little like the breath has been taken out of him. “Your choice.”

 

            “Hmmmm.” Smith rolls his shoulders back and stretches. “Can I blow you?” he asks, his voice a little muffled.

 

            Ross coughs in surprise. “If… if you want? If you’re sure.”

 

            “Wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t sure, mate,” Smith responds with a devilish grin, teeth gritted. “Get a condom and lie back.”

 

            Ross gropes one out of the packet under the bed without looking, too transfixed by sultry, lazy, post-sex Smith. He throws the little packet in Smith’s direction and then props himself up on the pillows where Smith was, wondering if it’ll look too dickish to cross his arms behind his head.

 

            He forgets about that a moment later though, because Smith is sliding his trousers off him with a tantalising, lip-biting smirk, and then leaning over to press his mouth to Ross’s hipbone. When he’s folded up over Ross’s legs, Ross can hardly tell that he’s naked, though of course as soon as that thought crosses his mind, Smith sits up on his heels to give him an eyeful. He tears open the condom packet after a moment or two of swearing at it and has rolled it smoothly on Ross before he’s really noticed what’s happened. If he hadn’t already been fully hard, the sight of Smith leaning towards his crotch with a gleam in his eye and his mouth already opening would have done it.

 

            “I might… I might not last long,” Ross says feebly, reaching out a hand as if to stop Smith, and then lowering it when he’s not really sure what to do with it.

 

            Smith rolls his eyes. “That’s the point, mate. Just stick your hands…” He grabs at Ross’s hand and plants it firmly on his own head. “In my hair, give it a bit of a tug if you fancy, and let me…”

 

            He dips his mouth just over the tip of Ross’s cock, breathing hot air over it before briefly enclosing it with his soft, wet lips, and Ross has to fight not tug hard on the hair in his hand. “Fuck, mate,” he croaks, and Smith grins at him again before bobbing his head a little more. Even through the condom, the heat of his mouth is mind-blowing, and the visual makes it even harder to cope with. Smith’s eyes are pale and twinkling, his eyelashes a dark rim around them, and he somehow keeps up the smile as he lowers his head further, further… and Ross actually has to tug him up again because Jesus Christ it’s too much.

 

            It really doesn’t take long, because Smith’s mouth is far more dextrous than it has any right to be, and Ross is already most of the way there from watching him get off in the first place, and from the sight of his cock slowly feeding into Smith’s mouth, which is an image he’ll never be able to scrub from his mind so thank God he doesn’t want to.

 

            Smith is surprisingly considerate enough to throw the condom away, and when he comes back to the bed Ross has drawn him close before he’s even thought about what he’s doing. Smith accepts the embrace though, giving a little groan of satisfaction and already wriggling around to try and pull the duvet out from beneath them so they can get underneath it.

 

            “Good?” Ross murmurs, once they’ve rearranged themselves and Smith’s face is buried in his neck. He’s warm and a little bit sticky still, but he doesn’t really care. Smith is a big, comfy, solid wall of heat next to him.

 

            “Yeah,” Smith grunts contentedly. He sounds like he’s about to feel asleep, and the rush of affection for him comes over Ross again.

 

            “D’you need any water or anything?” he frets though, despite himself.

 

            Smith half-heartedly nose-butts his face. “Nah. S’good. You were good. The tying up was…” He gives a massive yawn. “Really good.”

 

            And before Ross can tease him for his limited vocabulary or run over what they’d done, Smith starts snuffle-snoring into his neck, and Ross is left absent-mindedly stroking his hair (again) and wondering slightly worriedly when the hell he’d fallen so hard and so fast.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I just signed myself up to write two extra chapters of this when I have two final-year exams coming in the next couple of weeks? Fml. It's just too enjoyable though. Please please please keep all the lovely comments and ideas coming, reading them absolutely makes my day. (I'm still sitting so hard on the party idea for hopefully a sequel to this if I manage to keep my motivation ticking over. I've been planning it recently, though nothing written yet I'm afraid, plus schemes to move this in a Hatsome direction too, though that will require some more thought.) But in the near future, any morning sex ideas will be definitely borne in mind, ahem. As usual thanks so much for the support for this story guys! xx


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Night before my graduation and naturally I'm inspired to frantically type up another chapter of this (so sorry for the long delay!) My tenses are probably all over the place but that's what flashbacks do to you, sorry sorry sorry

When Ross wakes in the morning, it’s to find that either he or Smith have pushed the duvet down the bed and almost on to the floor, which is a relief, because otherwise he feels like he’d be uncomfortably hot. Smith is still asleep next him, mouth wide open, and Ross smiles at the sight without thinking about it. 

 

He inches carefully out of bed, trying not to disturb Smith and nips into the bathroom for a piss. He considers a shower, but really he just wants to lie in bed a little longer.

 

Smith has moved a little when he returns and stretches out carefully beside him, and he mumbles something and shuffles in a little closer when Ross settles himself. Ross waits a moment with bated breath to see if he wakes a little more, but he returns to the loud almost-snoring sleep-breathing. His hair is almost comically fluffy, and he’s drooling a bit, but he’s still unfairly attractive somehow.

 

Ross closes his eyes and wonders if he’ll be able to get back to sleep. He doesn’t think he will. His brain has already woken up and is trying to tackle the Issue that is Smith. 

 

He remembers when he first met him (or at least the first few times), he thought the guy was either permanently drunk, on drugs, or actually Ross had done something to mortally offend him which he somehow had no memory of. The shoving in the lectures, the dirty looks, the argument in the campus bar that had required two washes to get the sticky stain out of his new hoody really hadn’t contributed to Smith’s charm. Ross had just tried to avoid him as much as possible, and yet he still kept bumping into the twat. He learned his name eventually, though not the reason for his belligerence. His mates had even offered to go and report him to campus security or just to go and have a harsh word with him, but Ross had been pretty sure that would only make it worse. 

 

As time went on, however, he had started to get the idea that Smith wasn’t such a bad guy, even if he seemed intent on holding a personal grudge against Ross. He seemed pretty charming, from a distance, and seemed to have a fair few mates of his own. Ross had a project to do with Trott in spring term, who seemed like a really nice guy (not to mention easy on the eyes too). Ross had honestly been seriously considering asking him out, until he saw Smith turn up to meet Trott after one of the group work sessions on the presentation. Luckily Smith had been on his phone and Ross had hung back a little, not wanting to cause trouble. But he’d seen the way he’d greeted Trott – a big, wide smile that creased his eyes half-shut, slinging a proprietary arm around Trott’s shoulders (which Trott had griped about a bit, but clearly hadn’t minded), chatting loudly about some game they’d been playing. Ross’s heart had sunk. Crap, they were a couple.

 

He mentioned it tentatively to Trott the next week, once they’d finished most of their work and the other guy in their group had gone to print the handout. 

 

“So, you’re, er, mates with that Smith guy?” he asked casually.

 

Trott lifted his eyes from his phone with an apologetic grimace. “Yeah, I am. Sorry, he can be a bit of twat to people he doesn’t know.”

 

“Yeah, you can say that again,” Ross grunted. “Has he mentioned why he always behaves like he wants to punch my lights out?” He’d been having a sneaking suspicion that maybe Smith had somehow found out that he’d been eyeing up his boyfriend and was trying to warn him off, except that didn’t really make sense, because he’d started being an arsehole long before Ross had even known Trott.

 

Trott sighed. “Look, it’s not my place to apologise for him. Just… he’s a good guy, you know? He can just be a bit irritable sometimes, I guess. Don’t take it personally. I’ve known him since school, he’s not as much of a git as he makes himself out to be.”

 

Luckily at that moment Sam came back, complaining about the printer, and the subject was apparently closed.

 

Ross was still a bit confused and disgruntled about the whole thing, if nothing else because Trott seemed like a good guy and even if he was dating Smith it would still be nice to hang out with him without worrying that Smith was suddenly going to come up and kill him. Never mind though, it wasn’t as if he had a shortage of other uni mates. 

 

That night by the library, though, Smith couldn’t have been further from his mind. Brindley’s essay had been hanging over him for weeks now, not becoming any easier to deal with. He gave up one night and left the library to stand outside and take a breather, looking up at the cloud-veiled stars and trying to remind himself that one essay wasn’t the end of the world.

 

That was until, of course, Smith clumsily ran into him, because apparently looking where he was going was beneath him. Ross was fed up of essay-writing, fed up of dancing around this guy who he barely even knew, fed up of Trott’s excuses for him. So when Smith started a scuffle, he was only too happy to join in to burn off some of the built-up resentment. 

 

When Smith bared his neck, Ross literally couldn’t believe it. He blinked stupidly at him for a few seconds, because _what? This doesn’t make sense_. And then abruptly, a sick sort of lust rose up, replacing the confusion, and by the time he realised what he’d done, Smith was shouting at him and then running off.

 

Ross had felt absolutely awful. Confused, angry, ashamed, sick. What the fuck had been he thinking? Smith might have been a twat, but apparently he was also a Sub, and Ross had been within inches of taking serious advantage. Not to mention that he was dating someone who Ross would like to consider a friend, and Ross had just tried to make a move. Oh God, oh shit. When had he even started thinking Smith was attractive, even? Was it literally within the last thirty seconds? Or had he kind of known it before, in the twinkling of his cheerful eyes, the fluffy, mess hair, his height, his strong, freckled arms? 

 

He felt so paralysed by his conflicting emotions that he actually thought he was going to be sick for a moment. _What the fuck had he been thinking?_ How could he have done something like that? He’d become the Dom Subs warned each other about. 

 

With trembling fingers, he got out his phone, found Trott’s number and hit “call” before he remembered it was two in the morning.

 

“Ross? No offence, but why the fuck are you calling?” Trott’s voice was irritable and groggy with sleep.

 

“Trott,” Ross groaned, and realised how wrecked his voice sounded. “Oh shit, Trott, I’m so sorry, I… oh God…”

 

“What is it?” Trott asked, suddenly sharp and concerned. “Ross?”

“It’s Smith.” There was almost a sob in his voice by this point.

 

“What about him? Is he OK? Did you two have a fight?”

 

“I… fuck… I bumped into him outside the library, we had a fight… not a proper one… Trott, he’s a Sub, I didn’t know…”

 

“What the fuck did you do,” Trott asked, and his voice was stony.

 

“Nothing… nothing happened I swear, I wouldn’t have forced him… it crossed my mind, but I didn’t know what I was doing, I’m so sorry…”

 

“Isn’t me you should be apologising to.”

 

“I know, I know that, but I haven’t got Smith’s number, and I know you guys are together, but I didn’t mean anything by it, I’m just so tired and stressed… I know that isn’t an excuse, but you have to believe me…”

 

“Wait, you think Smith and I are together?” Trott asked suddenly. His voice was funny.

 

“Well yeah, is it a secret? I didn’t…”

 

“No, it’s not a secret because we’re not dating. He’s a friend, that’s all.”

 

“Oh! Oh, I’ve got the wrong end of the stick. OK, look, that doesn’t matter, just can you tell him from me that I really am sorry, I didn’t mean it, God, if he wants to come and punch me I probably deserve it…”

 

“It’s all right,” Trott said tiredly. “I believe you. You’re not a bad guy. It happens. Look, I’ll text him now. Just get yourself home or something, yeah?” 

 

“Yeah, OK.” Ross felt shaky all over, but a bit better. “Thanks, Trott. Tell him I’m so sorry, I fucked up.”

 

“I will. I might call you in a bit, OK?”

 

“OK. Bye.”

 

“Bye.”

 

By the time Trott called him again, he was back home, anxiously pacing his room and feeling horribly guilty all over again.

 

“Well I’ve texted him and he’s told me to fuck off, so he’s clearly not in the best of moods either,” Trott said wearily.

 

“Oh God, do you reckon he’s OK? I didn’t take him under, I swear.”

 

“He’s fine, if he was in trouble he’d know to call me,” Trott interrupted. “Look, I’m going to give you his number, OK? This is a fuck-up you’re going to have to sort out between the two of you, I’m not getting stuck in the middle.”

 

“Are, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

 

“Not really. But he’s going to text abuse at one of us, I’d rather it be you. For what it’s worth, he might be OK with it. Like I say, he’s not as much of a git as he makes out. Having a talk with him might get it out of his system.”

 

“OK.”

 

“Anyway, I’m off to bed. I was trying to get a fucking early night so I could sort out my referencing in the morning. So piss off and go to sleep.”

 

“Night, Trott.”

 

“Night.”

 

  The talk with Smith the next day hadn’t gone remotely the way he’d thought it would, mostly because he’d been almost certain it was going to get punched on at least two separate occasions, and then he’d horribly fumbled out a fucking sexual proposition without really thinking it through at all, and then _Smith had actually accepted_.

 

He hadn’t wanted to push the issue, but when he’d seen Smith the next week he’d still seemed keen, and really what the fuck did he have to lose anyway? The guy basically hated him anyway, he didn’t have to worry about sabotaging a friendship at least. And even if he was actually pretty intimidatingly attractive now Ross was allowing himself to notice it, he seemed interested, so hey, why not.

 

And the sex had been hotter, and somehow more intimate, than Ross had ever expected. He’d thought about it beforehand, of course. Part of him had suspected they wouldn’t get as far as actual sex without falling out or one of them bailing. He’d also considered, maybe even expected, kind of angry-hate-sex (not that that hadn’t been a pretty hot prospect). Maybe after all the sexual banter they just wouldn’t gel, so it would just be a one-off thing and then he could strike up a friendship with him and Trott. He’d vaguely entertained the idea that it might go well enough for a repeat performance, because Smith was not only attractive, he was also loud and confident and larger than life, which was a very intriguing, and promising, combination with his Sub status. 

 

But fuck, Smith’s vulnerability and relative inexperience (and not even wanting a safeword, Jesus fucking Christ) had really struck a nerve with him. Taking him under had been the biggest rush Ross had ever had as a Dom. The change from cocky, abrasive Smith to needy, submissive Smith had been absolutely mind-blowingly good. It had been raw and honest and the moment Smith had made his excuses and left, Ross had wanted him back in his bed. He’d never felt quite so compelled to aftercare _the shit_ out of someone before. 

 

Then the evening at Trott’s had been the easy, friendly companionship he’d kind of envisaged if the sex hadn’t worked between them, except that it had? And Smith was so pretty when he was drunk and silly and wanting. 

 

The second time had been just as good as the first, except it really felt like they were becoming friends in the interim, and Ross found himself daring to hope that this really might become a regular thing. Not to mention the fact that this time all his aftercare cravings had been fulfilled, because though Smith sweaty and desperate and sex-flushed was a beautiful thing, it was at the most only equal to Smith talkative and trusting and sleepy. 

 

Now Smith is lying asleep next to him, and this thing already feels frighteningly domestic, except that Ross doesn’t really mind that in the slightest, which is really the most frightening part. It would actually be really fucking nice to wake up to Smith in his bed every morning, apart from the fact that his first exam is in four days and unfortunately he’s too massively distracting to keep around. 

 

Smith suddenly contributes to his long internal monologue with a low groan that actually makes Ross jump because he hadn’t been expecting it.

 

“Mate… what time is it?”

 

Ross clears his throat a little and checks his phone. “Nine.”

 

“Ugh. Too fuckin’ early,” Smith moans, without opening his eyes.

 

“We’ve got exams coming up, you’re going to have to get used to getting up for them,” Ross points out, smiling despite himself.

 

“Fucking… fucking don’t talk about exams,” Smith complains, squinting open one eye. “I hate you.”

 

“Why?” Ross asks, faux-indignantly. “One exam comment?”

 

“No. Because it was some genius’s idea… and it wasn’t fucking mine… for both of us to sleep naked.”

 

“What’s the problem?”

 

“Because now I’ve got to fucking attempt pissing with a boner, so I hope you don’t mind your bathroom getting splashed.” 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading guys, hopefully the last chapter of this should be up in a week or two, but I'm making no promises! Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and support on tumblr (and please leave more so I can spend my graduation surreptitiously checking my phone for feedback, it'll make my day!)


	10. Chapter 10

Ross makes sure to be studiously staring at his phone as Smith clambers back into bed after his trip to the loo, but Smith seems completely unabashed by his very distracting nudity. He gives a deep sigh, and for a moment Ross thinks he’s going to go back to sleep. 

 

“You do realise,” Smith suddenly says into the warm, companionable silence, with a yawn. “That if either of us had herpes, like, we would already have given the other one herpes?”

 

Ross pauses, sets down his phone on the bedside table, and rolls over. Smith is half-covered by the duvet, thankfully. His eyes are wide and a cool blue-grey in the morning light. “If this is your way of telling me you have herpes…” Ross says seriously, deadpan.

 

“Well mate, I would have thought the horrible rash would have given it away,” Smith says, straight-faced, his eyes widening still further.

 

“Oh, is _that_ what that is?! Mate, you need to get that checked out, it’s like some kind of repulsive adult nappy rash.”

 

“Do you fancy checking it out?” Smith teases, wiggling his hips seductively, and Ross finally loses it as he begins to quiver his eyebrows up and down as well. Smith joins in the snorting giggling a moment later, his eyes crinkling up and his hand coming to cover his mouth slightly to cover the laughter.

 

“If you’ve got some kind of medical fetish,” Ross manages. “You seriously need to think of a better opening than that.”

 

“Ooh, you want a better opening? I’ve got one of those too,” Smith says immediately, attempting to pull down the covers. Ross cracks up again and holds them firmly on. 

 

“That was a fucking terrible joke and you know it.”

 

“You love it,” Smith says confidently. “C’mon, haven’t I got you all warmed up for a quick morning round yet?” 

 

“What, by talking about herpes?! Oddly enough, it hasn’t put me in the mood.”

 

“What about this?” Smith replies, and leans forward to give him a good snog. His short beard brushes pleasingly over Ross’s skin, and he lets himself get lost in the moment for a second. As they break apart, Smith whispers, “How about now?” and gives an exaggerated flutter of his lashes. Ross rolls his eyes.

 

“All right, all right, you’re insatiable. Can I say something first though?”

 

“Yeah, shoot. As long as you’re quick, because I’m horny as fuck.” 

 

“Be serious a moment. Look, my first exam is only a couple of days away, and…”

 

Smith gives a loud groan and attempts to hide his head under the covers. A tuft of his hair still protrudes, and now his skinny lower legs are sticking out of the bottom of the duvet. Ross resists the urge to tickle his feet.

 

“Listen a moment! Look, is it OK if we have a bit of a break just until exams end?” 

 

There’s a suspicious silence from Smith. Fuck.

 

“Not like a serious _break-_ break!” Ross says hurriedly. “We can text and stuff. Y’know, just like… I’m not sure it’s going to be good for either of our revision if we’re spending hours shagging… not that I don’t want to.”

 

“It’s not going to be good for my revision if I die of blue balls,” Smith points out, his voice slightly muffled. 

 

“You won’t die. It’s going to be what, like, two weeks until exams are over completely?”

 

“Nearly two and a half,” Smith complains, raising his head again, looking rather pink and irritated.

 

“Yeah, well, that’s not too long,” Ross attempts, even though now he’s regretting the suggestion. Smith looks deflated, suddenly withdrawn instead of his normal carefree self. But he doesn’t want to spend time with Smith over exams stressing that he should be working instead, counting how many minutes they’re spending together, even resenting him if things go poorly. He already cares about Smith too much to rush through their encounters, and plus he (and his parents) have pretty high expectations for his uni marks. “But… you get where I’m coming from, right?”

 

“Erm, you’re a school-boy bitch who’s worried about his grades?” Smith mocks. But before Ross can get annoyed, he sighs and nods reluctantly. He plays with the corner of the duvet with the toes of his left foot. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Trott’s been going on about how important exams are too. My fault for hanging out with two fucking squares.”

 

“So… you’re OK with that?” Ross says hesitantly. He’s trying to read Smith’s face as best he can, but it’s not easy, particularly since he’s avoiding eye contact. For a moment the hurt is still obvious there, and then it shuts off completely. Smith turns back to him pointedly. 

 

“Fine. But you better have something pretty spectacular planned once we’ve finished exams. I’m talking enormous high-quality dildos…” Smith makes a massive gesture with his hands, eyebrows raised expectantly, eyes wide again. “Like celebratory flavoured lube, the best handcuffs money can buy…”

 

“Oh? And what are you getting me?”

 

Smith shrugs, pulls a face. “Blowjobs?”

 

“For fuck’s sake. They had better be prize-winning.” Ross is smiling despite himself.

 

“Of course.” Smith inches a little closer to him, sneaking the duvet down inch by inch. “So now you’ve tried your hardest to _murder_ my boner talking about exams and how you’re not going to shag me for two whole weeks… How about you make it up to me?”

 

“Oh really?” Ross leans in to feel the warm brush of Smith’s naked torso on his. It makes it very easy to push aside his doubts and worries. “What did you have in mind?”

 

Smith shrugs again. “I mean, we could be sappy, or you could just pin me down and whisper sweet aggressive nothings in my ear.” 

 

“Why not both?”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 

“Want me to take you under?” 

 

“Fuck yes.”

 

“Safeword?”

 

“Magic,” Smith says, with an extremely restrained eye roll. Ross takes that as a win. 

 

“Anything you want, anything you don’t want?” 

 

Smith hesitates. “Could I be on my stomach maybe? And… well, a little rough is nice, as always.”

 

“Sure.” Ross kisses him slowly. Smith’s eyes are lazy and half-closed already. “Roll over, then.”

 

Smith’s eyes twinkle. “Make me.”

 

“You asked for it.”

 

Ross pushes down the duvet, the better to gain access, and tries to pull Smith over on to his side. Smith resists, with jokey determination and an exaggerated grimace.  

 

“Ready?” Ross asks, just to check, and Smith doesn’t actually have a comeback for once, just a quick kiss and a mumbled “yes,” and so Ross takes him under, slow and deep and careful. Smith’s straining muscles go soft and limp in his grip, his head sags slightly on the pillow. And then it’s deliciously easy to roll him, unresisting, on to his stomach, and God, being poised over him like this is really very, _very_ appealing. Ross pauses to admire the smooth, freckled expanse of Smith’s back. He feels that same, deep surge of affection and contentment. He could do this every day. 

 

“That’s better,” Ross murmurs, and then kisses the nape of Smith’s neck, just below his hairline, as he eases him up a little again. He catches Smith’s squirming fingers in his and pins them above his head. Smith gives a little sigh and arches his naked arse upwards; Ross stifles a swearword as their bodies press closer together and Smith giggles at him. 

 

“Bastard,” Ross complains, though the laughter is fairly infectious.

 

“Should’ve kept me better in check, then,” Smith teases. He rubs his arse against Ross’s crotch again, deliberately. Ross, holding himself up with his arms, shudders and nearly drops his weight on to Smith’s back. 

 

“Fucking… watch yourself, because I _will_ ,” Ross threatens darkly, and then, after a moment to collect himself, pulls Smith under so deep that he feels drunk and silly with it himself, until Smith is moaning beneath him, and he can take his time worshipping the ridiculously fluffy hair and the tips of his ears and even more of those damn freckles.

 

 

***

 

 

“Good?” Ross manages, a little while later.

 

Smith, utterly wiped out, flat on his back, eyes closed, reddened mouth slightly open to breathe more easily, gives a quiet, satisfied moan in reply, and Ross laughs. 

 

“Don’t go back to sleep, mate,” he says, playfully poking Smith in the side. “What about breakfast?”

 

“Ugh,” Smith says, squinting his eyes open as if the effort required is enormous. 

 

“Come on, you know food is a good idea,” Ross coaxes, and it’s Smith’s turn to chuckle, running one hand through his hair, as though to mess it up even more. 

 

“You sound like fucking Trott. Revise for exams Smith, eat food Smith. Are you my mother or something?” 

 

“You’re right, it’s all a conspiracy to keep you alive, who would have guessed,” Ross says sarcastically and then, not wanting to get into the exam conversation again, because the idea still gives him a pang of doubt and guilt, blurts out the first thing that comes into his head. “You know earlier, I was thinking… I thought you were and Trott were a couple, at first.”

 

Smith fully opens his eyes at that, and then crinkles his brow quizzically. “You what?”

 

“Thought you were dating.” The comment that he’d been thinking about dating Trott himself darts into Ross’s brain and is quickly rejected, because Jesus that’s a fucking weird thing to say about the best mate of the guy you have _literally just finished shagging._

 

Smith heaves himself into a sitting position, groaning again. “Ugh, you’ve given me a fucking workout, mate. And seriously, me and Trotty?”

 

Ross shrugs, regretting this subject-change already. “Well, you were always together. And you’re pretty touchy-feely with him.”

 

“Huh,” Smith rolls his shoulders and then stretches his back. “Yeah, I know what you mean, I guess. But we’ve always just been friends.”

 

“Oh?” Ross says stupidly, but it sounds like there’s more Smith has to say.

 

“Yeah… I mean I’m not saying I didn’t wonder, back in school… ‘Specially when I was going  basically out of my mind with the Sub stuff, but…” Smith shrugs. “Neither of us wanted to risk the friendship, I guess.”

 

“You could’ve done stuff platonically?” Ross suggests, but Smith gives a snort of laughter, scratching a darkening hickey on his neck self-consciously.

 

“Not sure that would have cut it.”

 

Ross is about to ask whether he’d thought about anything more, but then has to stop himself and wonder where the hell he’s going with this line of questioning. Is he about to ask Smith whether he’s ever thought of sleeping with his best friend? Seems like a terrible idea.

 

“Kinda wish we had, though,” Smith says suddenly, staring into the middle distance, and Ross glances at him sharply.

 

“How do you mean?”

 

“Well, anything. Platonic stuff. I was so desperate, I banged some pretty shitty people.” Smith picks at one of his nails. “Well, you know a bit about that. It was just really hard, needing to be put under, like, so fucking bad, and not having anyone I could trust with it. I did… ask him once. Well, more begged. But he didn’t think it was a good idea… I’m sure he was right. But he’d always keep an eye on me, anyway. He’s a good guy.”

 

“God, I’m… Sorry mate,” Ross says, feeling lost for words. He reaches out to touch Smith’s shoulder. He feels bad - he didn't mean to bring up any bad feelings for Smith. He’d meant for some casual chatting and aftercare before breakfast. But hey, in for a penny, in for a pound. It’s his job to ask these sort of questions. “Look, Smith, will you be… OK, over exams? I just don’t want to have to feel like I’m rushing you out the door if we do anything, but I…”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Smith says, abruptly swinging his legs to the floor, getting to his feet and beginning to hunt around on the floor, presumably for his clothes. “Come on, what about breakfast?”

 

“Smith…” Ross tries, but it’s clear that the subject isn’t a popular one, given the way Smith pointedly ignores him, and so he relents, for better or for worse. 

 

“OK.” He gets up himself, gives Smith’s back one last worried glance, and reaches for his own shirt. It’s only two weeks, and he’ll make sure to keep in contact as often as he can. Smith will be fine, right? 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Standard apology for my late updating (and it’s not the most polished chapter either) - not going to lie, I’ve had some serious writer’s block with this section, but I got past it!! Partly by writing ahead to THE PARTY SCENE (initially suggested by lala forever ago, then followed up by ghostofgatsby, whose ideas I have shamelessly worked from, hope that’s OK!)… I’m really looking forward to what you guys think of it, but I’ll need some feedback of where to go after that! (maaaaybe Hatsome) Plus it’ll be nice to get back to Smith’s POV, that comes more naturally to me.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for sticking with this story, and to rathernotsay for the encouragement - my current plan is to publish a couple of chapters of the next in the series relatively soon, but then to  
> keep it on the back-burner as I work on it and then just write heaps when inspiration strikes! If you hate unfinished fics, maybe stay away from it for a bit until I know where I’m headed with it!
> 
> P.S. For anyone who’s interested - as the uni-centric fic may imply, I’ve been studying for the last 3 years, but graduated last month with a first with distinction (go me!) and am now moving on to real adult money-earning life, God help me. I will continue to draw from that uber-realistic stash of uni memories though, like “trying really hard to finish an essay” and “forgetting your laptop in lectures” ;) Thanks again, guys xxx


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